Story 97: Reza Shadey and the Snack Start-Up
Right then, settle in tight, little ones — tonight's adventure involves big ideas, even bigger snacks, and one extremely confident cat who believed he was destined for very important things indeed.
It was a sunny Tuesday morning in Catford, and Reza Shadey was lurking beneath Mrs Higgins's study window, ears pricked.
Inside, Mrs Higgins was listening to a podcast about "venture capital" and "investability".
Reza's emerald eyes gleamed.
Whenever Reza Shadey discovered a new idea, it usually meant trouble. Or missing snacks. Sometimes both.
"Venture... capital?" he purred thoughtfully. "That sounds like adventuring for money! Finally — a job worthy of my genius!"
He leapt onto the patio, where Penelope, Ginger Tom, and Tiger were enjoying a peaceful mid-morning sunbeam.
"Friends! Cease your idle basking!" Reza declared, puffing out his magnificent chest. "I have identified the next stage of my career trajectory. I shall become a Cat-pitalist! A Visionary Investor! I shall fund the next global snack sensation!"
He designated an upturned flowerpot as his Investor Desk and immediately began his very important "due diligence" tour of the garden.
Ginger Tom opened one sleepy eye.
"Is there money in it, Reza?"
"Money, influence, and unlimited tuna-based dividends, Tom!" Reza replied grandly. "I shall be scouting for talent. You have five seconds to impress me — your first three sentences will determine whether you are worthy of my shiny coin!"
He pointed dramatically.
"Tom! Your pitch!"
Tom gave a long, luxurious yawn.
"Five... more... minutes..."
Reza flicked his paw dismissively.
"Un-investable! No energy! No disruption! Your business model is entirely horizontal!"
Next came Tiger, who was madly chasing a floating dandelion seed across the lawn.
"Tiger! Your idea!"
Tiger skidded to a halt, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Bouncy! Floaty! Must catch! The vibes are elite!"
Reza winced.
"Rejected! Too much kinetic energy. No clear path to a snack-based Return on Investment!"
Finally, he approached Penelope, who was serenely watching a bee drift past the lavender.
"Penelope! Your vision!"
Penelope sighed softly.
"My vision, Rezzi, is a quiet afternoon without any visionary bandwidth."
Reza huffed.
"A hostile market! Un-investable! This garden is an innovation desert!"
Feeling thoroughly dejected, Reza flopped beside the shed.
"No talent, no ideas... how can I be a Cat-pitalist with nothing to fund?"
Then —
WHIRR... CLICK!
Two bright eyes blinked from the shadows.
It was Sinan the Raccoon, the neighbourhood gadgeteer, surrounded by wires, bottle caps, and old batteries.
"Aha!" Reza whispered excitedly. "A founding partner! Your pitch! Five seconds — go!"
Sinan did not look up.
"Project: Snack-quisition", he rasped. "I leverage nocturnal operations and low-tech engineering to bypass human snack security. Goal: one hundred percent biscuit success by Q4."
Reza's eyes widened.
"Scalability! Disruption! A clear path to Return on Ingestibles! You, Sinan, are... INVESTABLE!"
He proudly produced his seed capital — a shiny bottle cap he had been saving for just such an occasion.
"This is your funding", he said grandly. "And I, of course, shall provide strategic oversight."
Sinan gave a slow nod.
"Tonight, we execute."
That evening, Mrs Higgins was in the living room knitting while the Dog — the neighbour's famously grumpy terrier — snored gently on the rug, dreaming of sausages. The neighbours were away for the week.
Meanwhile, Reza and Sinan crept into the kitchen.
Reza, the "investor", supervised importantly from the doorway.
Sinan, the "partner", got to work.
With a deft claw, he jimmied the lock on the biscuit cupboard.
It swung open with a glorious click, revealing a full tin of Crunchy Delights.
Reza's whiskers quivered with delight.
"Success!" he whispered. "My genius has paid off!"
But just as he stepped forward —
"WOOF!"
burst through the doorway, fur bristling.
"Biscuit thieves! Unapproved activity in the kitchen!"
Sinan did not hesitate.
He grabbed the entire tin, shot Reza a look that said 'business is business', and darted out through the cat flap with astonishing speed.
Reza froze.
The cupboard door swung shut.
The kitchen light flicked on.
Mrs Higgins stood there, hands on hips.
"Reza Shadey! What on earth do you think you're doing?"
Reza puffed up his fur, trying very hard to look professionally calm.
"Ahem. Mrs Higgins", he said smoothly. "I was merely conducting a late-night audit of our snack-security protocols. It appears we have a serious breach — which I have, of course, successfully identified. You're welcome!"
He stalked past , who muttered:
"Audit, my tail. You were after biscuits."
Reza sniffed.
"Literal-minded sausage", he murmured.
And with that, he disappeared into the night, muttering darkly about "unreliable raccoon founding partners", "hostile takeovers", and "the inherent risks of snack-based equity dilution."
Night night. Sleep tight.