Story 97: Reza Shadey and the Snack Start-Up
Right then, settle in tight — tonight's adventure involves big ideas, bigger snacks, and one extremely confident cat.
It was a sunny Tuesday morning, and Reza Shadey was lurking beneath Mrs Higgins' study window. Inside, Mrs Higgins was listening to a podcast about "venture capital" and "investability."
Reza's ears twitched with inspiration. "Venture... capital?" he purred. "That sounds like adventuring for money! Finally — a job worthy of my genius!"
He leapt onto the patio where Penelope, Tom, and Tiger were enjoying a peaceful mid-morning sunbeam. "Friends! Cease your idle basking!" Reza declared, puffing out his 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 a flowerpot as his Investor Desk and began his "due diligence" tour of the garden.
Ginger Tom opened one eye. "Is there money in it, Reza?" "Money, influence, and unlimited tuna-based dividends, Tom!" he replied. "I will be scouting for talent. You have five seconds to impress me — your first three sentences will determine if you are worth my shiny coin!"
"Tom! Your pitch!" Reza demanded.
Tom murmured, "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.
"Tiger! Your idea!"
Tiger skidded to a halt. "Bouncy! Floaty! Must catch!" he chirped, vibrating with excitement.
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.
"Penelope! Your vision!"
Penelope sighed. "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 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! A founding partner!" Reza whispered. "Your pitch! Five seconds — go!"
Sinan didn't 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 went wide. "Scalability! Disruption! A clear path to Return on Ingestibles! You, Sinan, are... INVESTABLE!"
He proudly offered his seed capital — a shiny bottle cap he'd been saving.
"This is your funding", he said grandly. "And I, of course, shall provide strategic oversight."
"Tonight, we execute!"
That evening, Mrs Higgins was in the living room, knitting and minding , the neighbour's grumpy terrier. The neighbours were away for the week, and was snoring on her rug, dreaming of sausages.
Meanwhile, Reza and Sinan crept into the kitchen.
Reza, the "investor", supervised 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. "Success! My genius has paid off!"
But just as he stepped forward —
"WOOF!"
burst through the doorway, fur bristling, nose twitching. "Biscuit thieves!" he barked. "Unapproved activity in the kitchen!"
Sinan didn't hesitate. He grabbed the entire tin, gave Reza a look that said 'business is business', and darted out through the cat flap with astonishing speed.
Reza froze as the cupboard door swung shut and the 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 for calm professionalism.
"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 about "unreliable raccoon founding partners", "hostile takeovers", and the "inherent risks of snack-based equity dilution."
Night night. Sleep tight.