The Adventures of Reza Shadey

Story 92: Reza Shadey's Blue Monday

It was a miserably grey January morning. The sparkly joy of Christmas was a distant memory, replaced by unpaid bills, a chilly wind, and the grim reality of a post-turkey diet. Inside, Mrs Higgins was listening to Radio 4, sighing deeply as a very serious man explained why this particular Monday was the most miserable day of the entire year.

Reza Shadey, magnificent even in his gloom, was draped over the arm of the sofa like a furry, deflated balloon. He was suffering. The humans' misery was infectious, creating a distinct lack of cheerful ear-scratching. Worse still, his own bowl contained only boring, sensible diet biscuits. "An outrage", he thought. "A crime against my magnificent fluff."

As the man on the radio droned on, a magnificent idea sparked in Reza's cunning brain. Misery was a problem. And he, Reza Shadey, was a purr-veyor of solutions. More importantly, misery was a market opportunity. "Hmph. This widespread sadness is bad for business", he purred to himself. "My business being, of course, the acquisition of snacks."

With a leap, he bounded into the garden, his tail held high with newfound purpose. "ATTENTION, my gloomy subjects!" he yowled from atop the garden wall. "Are you feeling... blue? Is the world a bit... grey? Fear not! For I, your benevolent leader, shall host the 'Is Everybody Happy?' Festival! Today! In this very garden!"

Penelope, looking elegant even on a miserable day, blinked slowly. "A festival, Rezzi? Is this another one of your schemes?" Ginger Tom, who had been trying to nap under a leafless bush, grumbled, "Is there an entrance fee? And more importantly, is there a leaving fee?"

"Ah, the details!" Reza purred smoothly. "The entrance fee is a mere five fishy bits! A small price for organised merriment! There will be games, there will be joy, and there will be a grand silly rhyme competition! The winner... gets the entire pot of entrance fees!"

He grinned to himself. As the sole judge, he knew exactly who the winner would be. "My rhyme about the utter brilliance of me is a guaranteed triumph. The snacks will be mine!" The promise of fun — and a potential prize — was too much to resist. Soon, cats from all over the neighbourhood began to arrive. Marmalade, the sleek tabby, dropped his five bits into Reza's collection pot (an old flowerpot). Whiskers, Tiger's fluffy grey cousin, paid his entry too. Even Shadow, the mysterious black cat, appeared silently at the back, dropping her payment with a flick of her dark tail. The pile of delicious fishy bits grew into a magnificent, fragrant mountain.

The festival began. There was a "chase the leaf" competition (which Tom refused to enter on the grounds it was "too much like exercise") and a "most dramatic yawn" contest (which Tom won without even trying). Finally, it was time for the main event.

Reza sat upon his judging throne — a slightly wobbly garden gnome — and cleared his throat. "The silly rhyme competition is now open!" Penelope went first, with a clever, witty verse: "Our Reza is bossy and terribly grand, he thinks that a biscuit is worth more than land. He plots and he schemes with a flick of his tail, but his plans, like a leaky boat, always seem to fail."

Ginger Tom was next, with a short but heartfelt poem: "The sun is quite nice, a biscuit is better, I'd write a long poem, but I can't find a letter. So I'll just have a nap, and dream of some fish, for a snooze and a snack are my only real wish."

Whiskers, remembering his chaotic visit, recited his rhyme with a bounce: "I came for a visit from far away, to sleep on a sofa and happily play. I bounced and I tumbled and broke a blue vase, but the cushions were comfy all over the place!"

Marmalade gave a theatrical sigh and spoke with a hint of annoyance: "I was watching my tablet, happy and snug, when a cat pulled me out with a terrible tug. He called it a 'rescue', a grand, heroic deed, but my show was paused on a very good feed!"

Shadow then stepped forward, her voice a spooky whisper that made everyone's fur tingle: "Beware the dark shed where the potions all brew, a witch's cat watches, and she's looking at you. A hoot from an owl, a rustle of leaves, might just be a warning for magnificent thieves."

Reza gave them polite, but dismissive, nods. "Adequate. Now, for true genius!" He stood tall and recited his own masterpiece: "I am Reza, a cat of great might, my fur is so dark, my brain is so bright. I invent and I manage, I lead and I rule, any cat who thinks different is simply a fool!" He bowed, expecting thunderous applause. Instead, there was a slightly awkward silence, broken only by Tom snoring.

Then, it was Tiger's turn. He bounced onto the 'stage' (a patch of moss), did a little wiggle, and took a deep breath. "My rhyme is called 'The Wobbly Bum'!" he announced. He then proceeded to run in a tight circle, chasing his own tail, getting faster and faster until he was a stripy blur. "My bum has a wiggle, my bum has a jiggle, when I chase my tail, it gives me a giggle!" he panted, getting dizzier and dizzier. "It wobbles to the left, it wobbles to the..." But he never finished. With a final, spectacular wobble, he lost his balance completely and tumbled head-over-paws, landing with a soft "OOF!" right in a pile of dry leaves, his stripy bottom sticking straight up in the air, still wiggling.

The garden erupted. Penelope let out a purr of pure laughter. Tom woke up with a snort and started chuckling. Even Reza, who was trying so hard to maintain his serious, judgmental face, felt a wobble in his own magnificent belly. He tried to fight it. He pursed his lips. His whiskers trembled. But the sight of Tiger's wiggling bottom in the leaves was just too much. A snort escaped. Then a giggle. Then a full-blown, rolling, side-splitting laugh that shook him from his ears to his tail-tip.

"Oh, dear", he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye with his paw. He looked at the mountain of fishy bits, then at the still-wiggling Tiger, and then at all the happy, laughing faces. His plan was in tatters. But he was laughing too hard to care. "The winner", he declared, still chuckling, "is Tiger!"

Tiger, extricating himself from the leaves, beamed and immediately shared his winnings with everyone. The miserable Blue Monday had turned into a day of fun and laughter. Reza, munching on a fishy bit he definitely hadn't won, was still a bit peeved. But as he watched his friends play, he couldn't help but feel a warm, happy glow. "Hmph. The festival was a resounding success", he rationalised. "I successfully cured the neighbourhood's misery. The operational costs — the prize — were a necessary investment in public relations. A true leader knows when to delegate the victory. Pure genius, really."

Night night. Sleep tight.