Story 61: Reza Shadey and the Great Garden Race
Reza Shadey, the most magnificent and speedy Persian cat in the history of the world (according to him, and who would argue?), was demonstrating his athletic prowess in Mrs Higgins's garden. "Observe my veloci-purr-ty!" he declared grandly to a rather startled ladybird. In one lightning-fast leap, he launched himself through the air and... tripped over a particularly cheeky daisy. THUMP! "A deliberate stumble!" he huffed, untangling his paws with a flourish. "A tactical manoeuvre for superior balance, naturally! Only a genius plans such graceful near-cat-astrophes!"
A moment later, he spotted a tiny snail inching across a leaf. "Aha! A worthy opponent! Prepare to be utterly vanquished, slow-coach!" he yowled to his neighbours, Penelope and Tiger, who were watching from the fence, trying very hard not to giggle. He crouched low, wiggled his fluffy bottom like a furry spring, and then ZOOMED! past the unsuspecting snail. "I WIN!" he roared, skidding to a halt in a shower of tiny grass clippings. The snail, who hadn't even noticed, continued its slow, shiny journey, leaving a trail of utter indifference. Some appreciation!
Tiger bounced over, his tail wagging like a happy metronome. "But Reza", he chirped, "Ginger Tom beat you to the food bowl last Tuesday! And you weren't even napping then!" Reza scoffed, flicking his ears. "A fluke! A mere miscalculation of gravity! I am not merely fast. I am literally lightning with fur! And perhaps a touch of static electricity after a good roll on the carpet!"
From under a leafy hosta, a slow, quiet voice whispered, "Lightning is very flashy. But does it always win a prize?" A small, patterned head with wise, ancient eyes emerged. It was Tilly the tortoise. Reza peered down at her, his emerald eyes narrowing. "Well, well, well, if it isn't a walking rock! I suppose you swim as slowly as you walk, too?" he sneered, puffing his chest out even further.
Tilly blinked slowly, completely unfazed. "I am a tortoise", she said calmly, her voice as smooth as warm milk. "We are land-dwellers. My cousins, the turtles, are the swimmers, and they are also very good at winning slow and steady races."
"Turtles, smurtles!" huffed Reza, waving a dismissive paw. "Details, details! You're slow! Challenge me to a race if you dare! I'll even give you a head start... of, say, a whole day!"
"Very well", said Tilly, a tiny smile playing on her lips. "To the big sunny rock by the pond. Tomorrow at noon. Winner gets the rock all afternoon, AND Ginger Tom will give the champion a whole, magnificent tin of tuna!"
Reza's whiskers twitched! Tuna! A whole tin! Now this was a prize worthy of his magnificent speed! He laughed so hard his whiskers wobbled and a little bit of fluff flew off. "It's a deal! I'll have time for seventeen naps, a light lunch, and a full grooming session at the finish line before you even get halfway, old shell-on-legs!"
That night, Reza was very, very busy. He practiced "speed naps" (which mostly involved falling asleep very quickly) and designed a turbo-charged racing collar from three sparkling bottle caps and a bit of Mrs Higgins's best red wool. It jingled impressively with every swagger. Penelope, visiting the garden for a late-night stroll, watched him with a gentle, knowing smile. "You know, Rezzi", she purred softly, "slow and steady sometimes wins the race." "Pah!" snorted Reza, nearly tripping over his own paws in his haste. "Only in boring tortoise fables, my dear! This is real life, and I am a racing machine! A tuna-winning, furry, lightning-fast machine!"
Race day was bright and gloriously sunny, perfect for a champion! At the starting line, Reza revved his paws like a tiny, furry engine. "Ready, slow-poke?" he sneered, flexing his claws dramatically. Tilly simply blinked, her eyes calm and steady. Ginger Tom, looking very official with a piece of string tied around his neck like a referee's whistle, shouted, "GO!" WHOOSH! Reza was gone in a blur of fur and unstoppable ego, leaving a faint smell of triumph and newly-fluffed fur in his wake.
He was so far ahead, he decided he had plenty of time for a few important detours. First, he stopped by a large puddle to admire his magnificent racing form. But as he peered in, he saw him! That fierce, nasty, ugly cat from the mirror! "HISS! Get out of my way, you scruffy beast! I'm a champion!" he snarled, batting furiously at his own reflection and splashing himself. He wasted precious minutes wrestling with the 'puddle-cat', getting his whiskers all wet.
Next, the most delicious smell of a freshly dropped sausage roll wafted from a picnic blanket. It would be terribly rude not to investigate. CHOMP! NOM-NOM-NOM! He ate the whole thing, leaving not a single crumb. Finally, feeling a bit full and rather tired from all the winning, he curled up for a quick nap. Then another. And then a third, just to be safe and to truly prove how much time he had to spare.
All the while, Tilly the tortoise just... kept... going. She didn't stop to argue with puddles (she thought they looked rather peaceful) or steal snacks (she much preferred a nice, fresh lettuce leaf). She just put one stumpy foot in front of the other, her wise eyes fixed on the big sunny rock. Plod, plod, plod. Not very exciting, but very, very steady.
Reza awoke from his final, glorious nap with a mighty, contented yawn that showed all his pointy teeth. "Right, time to go and accept my tuna trophy", he stretched, feeling utterly victorious. He trotted languidly towards the finish line, already tasting the delicious fish. But as he got closer, he saw something that made his fur stand on end and his bottle-cap collar jingle with horror. It was the tip of a small, patterned shell, cresting the very edge of the sunny rock!
He skidded to a halt, sending up a puff of dust. Tilly was already there, basking serenely in the sun. "HOW?" spluttered Reza, his voice a squeaky whisper of disbelief. "I'm a furry rocket! A speed demon! You're a walking pebble with a hat! It's simply not fair!"
Tilly opened one wise eye, a twinkle in it. "You are very fast, Reza", she said, her voice calm and steady as ever. "But you ran in squiggles. And you argued with yourself in a puddle. And you ate a whole sausage roll. I, however, just walked in a straight line. Speed is useless without direction, you see."
Reza Shadey looked at his squiggly, sausage-roll-and-puddle-filled route, then at Tilly's perfectly direct, straight path. He huffed. He puffed. He stomped. He grumpily surrendered the sunny rock. Ginger Tom ambled over, holding the tin of tuna. He gave it to Tilly, who blinked her thanks. Reza glared at the tuna, then at Tom, then at the tuna again, his tummy rumbling. This was an outrage!
He stomped back towards his house, muttering under his breath, his tail drooping like a wilting flower. "A tactical miscalculation of epic proportions! The puddle-cat was more distracting than anticipated. And the wind resistance from the sausage roll was considerable. I demand a rematch. With fewer picnics, no puddles, and perhaps a blindfold for Tilly so she can't see the finish line!" He paused, then added, "And I shall certainly be demanding a commission on all future tuna prizes. This is an injustice to my magnificent speed!"
Night night. Sleep tight.