Story 112: Reza Shadey and the Cycle of Fame
It was a rainy afternoon in Catford, the sort of day where the sky hung low and lumpy, like cold porridge. The only sensible activity was a very long nap. But Reza Shadey was not napping. He was staring at Mrs Higgins's laptop screen with eyes the size of saucers.
On the screen was a picture of a beautiful white fluffy cat sitting in a bicycle basket. She wore cool goggles. She had the wind in her fur. And most importantly, she had over 300,000 followers and her own merchandise shop selling stickers of her face.
"Sigrid the Navigator", Reza read, his whiskers twitching with a potent mix of admiration and jealousy. "Lives in London. Rides in a basket. Has a human servant to pedal her around like a Queen."
He scrolled down. "She has a book deal? She has... Patreon supporters? People pay money just to watch her sit in a basket?"
Reza gasped. He looked at his own life. He had a nice cushion, yes. He had a garden, certainly. But did he have a mobile throne? Did he have a dedicated chauffeur? Did he have stickers?
"This cat has cracked the code!" Reza announced to the empty kitchen. "She is being exploited in the most magnificent way possible! All the fame, none of the legwork! I must have this life immediately!"
When the rain stopped, Reza marched into the garden to assemble his team. Penelope was shaking water off her paws, Ginger Tom was inspecting a damp snail, and Tiger was trying to catch a raindrop on his tongue.
"Friends!" Reza boomed from atop the compost bin. "I have had a vision! I am rebranding. I am no longer just a Garden Boss. I am... Reza the Rider! The world's first Persian Navigator!"
Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Rezzi, you don't even like it when Mrs Higgins moves your chair while you're sleeping on it. You hate moving."
"Details!" scoffed Reza. "I shall not be moving. I shall be conveyed. Tom, you are my mechanic. Inspect Mrs Higgins's bicycle! Tiger, you are my press agent. Run ahead and tell the squirrels I am coming!"
Ginger Tom ambled over to Mrs Higgins's old bicycle, which was leaning against the shed. He kicked the tyre gently. "It's round", he reported. "And it smells of oil."
"Excellent work", said Reza. "Now, I need equipment. Sigrid wears goggles. I shall wear... these!"
He dragged out a pair of Mrs Higgins's swimming goggles from the washing line basket. They were bright pink and slightly too big. He wrestled them onto his head. They squished his magnificent fluff and made his eyes look like bug-eyes, but he felt incredibly aerodynamic.
Just then, Mrs Higgins came out to hang the laundry. Reza saw his chance. He leapt into the wire basket on the front of her bike and sat there, looking expectant. He let out a loud, commanding "MEOW!" which clearly meant, "Mush! Pedal, woman! To glory!"
Mrs Higgins chuckled. "Do you want a ride, you silly sausage? Well, I suppose a quick spin around the block wouldn't hurt."
She put on her helmet, checked Reza was safe (though he refused to be strapped in, claiming it "crushed his style"), and pushed off.
The first ten seconds were glorious. Reza sat tall, the pink goggles glinting, imagining the crowds cheering. "Yes! Look at me! I am mobile! I am magnificent!"
Then, they hit a bump. CLANG-RATTLE-BUMP!
Reza vibrated so hard his teeth chattered. "I say! Less suspension, more cushion!" he thought indignantly.
Then, the wind picked up. Unlike Sigrid, whose sleek fur probably rippled majestically, Reza's Persian fluff did exactly what Persian fluff does in the wind — it went everywhere. It blew into his mouth. It blew into his eyes (under the goggles). He looked like an exploding dandelion.
"My dignity!" he wailed, spitting out fur. "This is not the glamorous life I was promised!"
Mrs Higgins turned a corner, and they picked up speed. "Wheee!" she shouted.
"NO WHEEE! ONLY WHOA!" Reza yowled, flattening his ears. This was terrifying! The world was rushing by way too fast. How did Sigrid do this? Was she magic? Was she glued to the basket?
Suddenly, Reza spotted something coming the other way. Another cyclist. Another basket. Another cat. A beautiful, fluffy white cat with ice-blue eyes and tinted goggles, sitting perfectly still, nose tilted to the sky like she owned the postcode. A double-decker bus roared past; she didn't even blink. It was her. The real Sigrid the Navigator. Three-hundred-thousand followers, book deal, sticker empire — all gliding by in serene, effortless glory. Reza, looking like a pink-goggled tumble-dryer victim, tried to give a casual nod.
But just then, Mrs Higgins braked for a squirrel. SCREECH!
The bike wobbled. Reza lost his balance. He flailed his paws, his goggles slipped down over his nose, and he ended up clinging to the wire mesh of the basket with his bottom in the air, looking like a furry spider.
The other cat glided past. She didn't laugh. She just gave him a slow, pitying blink, as if to say, "Amateur."
Mrs Higgins pedalled home. As soon as the bike stopped, Reza scrambled out, shook his fur until he was dizzy, and threw the pink goggles into the bushes.
Tiger bounced over. "Did you conquer the road, Reza? Are you famous yet? Did you sell any stickers?"
Reza smoothed his ruffled fur, trying to regain his composure. His legs were a bit wobbly.
"The mission was... a success", he announced, his voice trembling only slightly. "I have discovered that the cycling lifestyle is... pedestrian. It lacks... stillness. True power, my friends, is stationary."
Penelope purred, gently patting his paw. "You looked very... brave, Rezzi. Especially when your bottom was in the air."
Reza sniffed. "That was a tactical manoeuvre. I was inspecting the front tyre pressure. Visually."
He climbed onto his solid, unmoving, non-vibrating garden bench. "I have decided not to be a Navigator", he declared. "I shall be a Destination. People can come to me. If they bring snacks."
And as he curled up for a nap that definitely wouldn't involve wind or bumps, he thought, "Let Sigrid have the rain and the traffic. I have the sunbeam. And that, really, is the best job in the world."
A week later a small, official-looking envelope arrived. Inside was a single sticker of Sigrid the Navigator and a polite note: "With sympathy – from one basket professional to another." Reza used it to cover a scratch on the fridge. Upside-down.
Mrs Higgins says: Reza is now banned from the bicycle basket for life. Real cats who ride need proper harnesses, calm temperaments, and humans who know what they're doing. Reza has exactly none of these things.
Night night. Sleep tight.