FICTIONAL PARODY: An entirely invented motorsport adventure featuring Team AEB, Paul Mulholland and a cat-shaped racing car whose engineering department has requested anonymity.
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Team AEB arrived at the racetrack with a transporter, matching jackets and a vehicle shaped like an enormous cat.
Other teams had spent the winter improving their aerodynamics.
Alex had spent it deciding whether the car needed whiskers.
It did.
Paul Mulholland stood beside the vehicle holding a clipboard and wearing the expression of a man who had expected a considerably different interpretation of “Jaguar.”
Paul: “You said we were entering a performance car.”
Alex: “Look at it.”
Paul: “I am looking at it.”
Alex: “And how do you feel?”
Paul: “Concerned.”
Alex: “Exactly. It’s already performing.”
The Engineering Brief Was Mostly a Drawing
The cat car had everything a competitive racing machine required: four wheels, an engine, a steering wheel and a team principal willing to describe every strange noise as “development.”
It also had pointed ears, a tail and a horn that meowed.
The mechanic had suggested removing the tail to reduce drag.
Alex had suggested removing the mechanic to reduce negativity.
Paul reviewed the technical specifications.
Under horsepower, Alex had written emotionally significant.
Under top speed, he had written pending opportunity.
Under braking distance, he had drawn a question mark wearing sunglasses.
Paul: “Has this actually been tested?”
Alex: “Extensively.”
Paul: “Where?”
Alex: “The driveway.”
Paul: “At racing speed?”
Alex: “The neighbours were yelling.”
Paul added a note to the clipboard.
Alex asked whether it said “promising.”
It said “neighbours.”
Scrutineering Becomes a Philosophical Dispute
The race official walked around the car twice.
On the third circuit, he stopped beside the whiskers.
Official: “What are these for?”
Alex: “Situational awareness.”
Official: “They’re decorative rods.”
Alex: “That’s what makes them discreet.”
The official checked the cockpit.
Beside the steering wheel were three buttons labelled MEOW, LOUDER MEOW and DO NOT PRESS UNTIL IMPORTANT.
Official: “What does the third button do?”
Alex looked at Paul.
Paul looked at Alex.
Paul: “We were hoping you might know.”
A Race Strategy Built Around Being Ahead
Paul had been appointed race strategist because he owned the clipboard.
Alex had been appointed driver because he was already sitting in the car and refused to get out.
Their briefing took place beside a folding table covered in tyre charts, pizza boxes and a map of the circuit.
Paul pointed to the first corner.
Paul: “Brake here.”
Alex: “That seems defeatist.”
Paul: “It’s a corner.”
Alex: “Only if we accept its framing.”
Paul put down the pen.
He had hoped motorsport would give them something concrete to discuss.
Alex had already begun disputing the road.
Lights Out, Confidence In
The cars assembled on the starting grid.
Around the cat car sat purpose-built machines with smooth bodywork, serious drivers and engineers who had measured things.
Alex adjusted his mirrors.
Then his sunglasses.
Then he waved at a camera that was filming the car beside him.
Paul, over the radio: “Remember the plan.”
Alex: “Win.”
Paul: “The detailed plan.”
Alex: “Win convincingly.”
The lights went out.
The field launched forward.
The cat car meowed.
Alex had pressed the wrong button.
By the time he found the accelerator, Team AEB was leading the category of vehicles still near the starting line.
The Timing System Develops an Attitude
Once moving, the cat car was surprisingly lively.
Its engine roared. Its tyres gripped. Its enormous feline body swept through the opening bends with considerably more dignity than either man had brought to the briefing.
Alex passed one competitor.
Then another.
Paul began smiling.
This was dangerous. Optimism had entered the operation.
Paul: “Good lap. You’re making progress.”
Alex: “Am I first?”
Paul: “Seventeenth.”
Alex: “Out of?”
Paul: “Eighteen.”
There was a long radio silence.
Alex: “We need to investigate the timing system.”
The Pit Stop Has Been Replaced by Lunch
On lap six, Paul called Alex into the pits for fresh tyres.
Alex arrived with excellent precision, stopping exactly beside the catering table.
Paul: “The pit box is over there.”
Alex: “You said box.”
He pointed at a pizza box.
The mechanics waited with four tyres.
Alex waited with garlic dip.
Paul watched their pit-stop time pass thirty seconds, then sixty, then a threshold at which the stopwatch seemed personally embarrassed.
Paul: “We are losing positions.”
Alex: “I’m gaining energy.”
A mechanic finally changed the tyres around him.
Alex described the service as excellent.
The Button Becomes Important
Back on track, Alex found himself approaching the final corner behind the race leader.
The leader was about to lap him.
Alex preferred to describe this as “direct competition.”
He glanced at the dashboard.
DO NOT PRESS UNTIL IMPORTANT.
This felt important.
He pressed it.
A concealed speaker released an enormous purring sound.
The car’s tail began wagging.
Confetti erupted from behind the ears.
Nothing happened to the engine.
Paul: “What did you do?”
Alex: “Activated race mode.”
Paul: “That appears to be birthday mode.”
The grandstand erupted in applause.
For the first time all afternoon, Team AEB had delivered exactly what the crowd wanted.
The Corner Remains Unpersuaded
Distracted by the confetti, Alex missed his braking point.
Paul shouted over the radio.
The tyres squealed.
The cat car slid sideways into the gravel trap, scattering stones before settling into a cloud of dust.
Its nose stopped inches from the tyre barrier.
Its tail continued wagging.
The speaker continued purring.
Alex sat motionless inside a vehicle celebrating an occasion nobody had approved.
Paul: “Are you all right?”
Alex: “Yes.”
Paul: “Can you continue?”
Alex: “The cat has found its litter box.”
The Results Become Uncooperative
The official classification listed Team AEB as DNF.
Paul explained that this meant “Did Not Finish.”
Alex suggested “Dominant Nautical Feline.”
Paul reminded him that they were on land.
Alex said the category was still developing.
They reviewed the afternoon honestly for approximately eight seconds.
The start had been poor. The lunch had been unnecessary. The birthday button had raised several procurement questions.
But the car had attracted a crowd.
Children wanted photographs. Adults wanted to hear the horn. One racing engineer asked who had built it, then clarified that he was asking out of fascination rather than endorsement.
Paul put away the results sheet.
Paul: “Perhaps we’re better at putting on a show.”
Alex: “So we won?”
Paul: “We entertained people.”
Alex considered the distinction.
It was unfamiliar, but manageable.
Back at Team Headquarters
That evening, they parked the cat car in the garage and began preparing for the next event.
Paul wrote three items on the workshop board:
- Practise the start.
- Listen to the mechanic.
- Eat before the race.
Alex added a fourth.
BIGGER MEOW.
Paul stared at it.
Then he left it on the board.
Some compromises were necessary to keep a team together.
TEAM STATUS: Car recovered. Driver unharmed. Pizza finished. Results accepted with considerable supervision.
From inside the darkened garage came one final electronic meow.
Alex stopped at the door.
Alex: “Paul. Did you press that?”
Paul: “No.”
They looked back at the car.
Its tail moved.
Alex slowly reached for his notebook.
The investigation had acquired wheels.