The Cat

A Visionary Business Tale Charles M Lines

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005 1

The Cat
Once there was an organisation that was struggling. The Board of Directors didnt know exactly what to do about it, but they knew they had to do something. They thought long and hard about the problem and decided, like a lot of organisations in trouble, that it was the fault of the boss, the Chief Executive. So they sacked him. The Directors thought this was a very clever thing to do, as it then gave them something else to do, something a little more positive. They had to find a new Chief Executive, someone who would lead them out of their troubles and, hopefully, into a new period of success and prosperity. Again, the directors thought long and hard about the type of person they wanted to lead their organisation. They created the ideal profile, engaged recruitment firms and head hunters and eventually found and appointed the person they wanted. The new chief executive was young, imaginative, purposeful and a great lover of cats - a love that had, just lately, become something of an obsession (an obsession the organisations head hunters had failed to pick up). The dayFof theFfirstFmeeting with the new Chief Executive arrived. It was to be held in the main conferencing hall of one of the better local hotels and most of the organisations managers had been invited. Everybody was expectant. Some people, unusually, were even quite excited. Could this be the start of a new, golden era of success, bonuses, champagne breakfasts and enhanced pensions (at least for some)? The meeting started on time (noone could remember the last time this had happened perhaps people wanted to make a good impression). The Board and new Chief Executive, eight people in all, were seated behind a long table on a raised dais at the far end of the hall. The rest of the work force was seated in neat rows, theatre style, in front of them.
Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005 2

The Chairman of the Board stood up and welcomed the new Chief Executive. The audience of managers applauded loudly. The Chief Executive rose slowly, smiling, taking the applause and looking around the hall. She thanked the Chairman for his warm words and began her presentation. She presented just one slide. There was stunned silence, as everybody stared at the picture in front of them, trying to take it in.

It was a cat. A small brown, long haired tortoise shell cat in fact, with white fir around the front of its neck, white tips on its paws and a quite large, for her size, thick fluffy tail. The tips of her ears were black on the outside and pink on the inside. She looked slightly unimpressed with things. This organisation, the new Chief Executive said, is a cat - this cat in fact. She then sat down and made a few notes for herself, seemingly oblivious to the stunned silence and staring, disbelieving eyes focused on her. After the stunned silence, and when everybody realised that the Chief Executive was not going to say anything else, but just sit in her seat and make notes (actually they were not notes but sketches of various types of cat), a general murmuring began which very quickly turned into concerned and puzzled discussions and then into quite loud, emotional shouting and arguing. What had the organisation done? Had they saddled themselves with a mad Chief Executive? Would they have to pay her off? Pay her no doubt very hefty psychiatric bills? Was she just making fun of them in a very unpleasant, mocking way? Or, as one or two people had started to suggest, was she testing them using some sort of cunning, diabolical management technique? Everyone became very quiet and reflective thinking. Most of the Board members, looking and feeling distinctly ill, took this opportunity to make a quick exit from the dais and conference hall. Then, gradually, those still present began to turn and look at the cat. And the cat looked back, still looking slightly unimpressed.

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

Someone, un-typically for him, at least whilst at work, felt a wave of emotion and bravery and walked up to the Chief Executive, who was still busy drawing her cats. Why do you think this organisation is a cat, he said. The Chief Executive stopped drawing and looked down from her dais. Her expression was slightly distracted, even puzzled. Not any cat, she said earnestly, that particular cat up there. What sort of cat do you think it is? The man who had asked the question took a step back and gaped up at the picture on the screen. There were further murmurings and one or two audible requests for men in white coats, straight jackets, an ambulance that sort of thing. Although by now no one was quite clear about who needed them the most: The Chief Executive? The people who had employed her? Everybody else? Perhaps everyone was suffering from mass delusion and hysteria!

The noise levels in the meeting room began to rise again. Some voices began to take on an edge of panic, Were doomed, said one, buggered, said another. A slow stream of people started to make off for the bar area. Some people just collapsed or slumped on the spot. One or two began to walk menacingly towards the Chief Executive on her dais. The man who had asked the question thought for a moment (his name was Barney and he was Deputy Under Manager of Procurement at the Warrington Office not part of the main concern at all). He then cleared his throat, which had begun to feel rather dry, and said in a loud voice, Wait! We need to deal with this, not just give up or get angry. One or two people looked back towards him on their way to the bar; a few of those who had slumped raised their heads a bit, listening. Those walking towards the dais stopped and turned towards him, reluctantly. Barney continued, We have this hall booked for the day. Weve got problems we need to sort out. Lets use this time to do just that not to just feel sorry for ourselves or let off steam.

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

A few people just shrugged and continued towards the bar, a few stopped, turned and walked towards Barney. Some slumped people sat up a bit more. Those who had been walking towards the dais muttered that they did intend to do something. The Chief Executive looked up from her drawing, looked at Barney, looked at everybody else and seemed genuinely bemused by what was happening. She stood up and said in a loud voice, Look, if you dont think its this cat which cat do you think it is? Do you even think its a cat? She looked up at the cat and smiled. One or two people edged nearer to the dais, malice in their eyes. An older gentleman, wishing to distract people from any unpleasantness, stood up and said in a calm, well spoken voice, Well, being as weve entered the twilight zone and normal rules of sanity have been suspended, I wish to say that I dont think our organisation is a cat at all. I think its more like a donkey, hard working but stubborn, set in its ways. One or two other people, also sensing the atmosphere of latent aggression and wishing to smother it, said that they quite liked the cat idea. They even asked the Chief Executive if they could have a picture of it to take home. It would be quite a nice picture to hang up over the fireplace or put in the hallway. They thought it a bit like their jobs in fact, nice to have around as long as it didnt get in the way or clash with things too much. (The cats unimpressed expression seemed to grow somehow.) Barney listened to what people were saying, thought for a moment, looked imploringly at the Chief Executive who had gone back to drawing her cats, and looked at the people now starting to crowd around and press against the dais. He straightened himself up, took a deep breath and said, so that everybody in the room could hear, Were desperate, the organisations desperate, Im becoming increasingly desperate, but for the first time in years were feeling real feelings and even talking to each other. However difficult it may seem to carry on with this perhaps we should, perhaps itll lead us somewhere, somewhere different, even better.

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

Why the hell not! a middle aged woman in a bright red trouser suit shouted from the side of the room. May as well do something rather than nothing, she continued. It isnt as if Im snowed under with work at the moment. Lets talk about cats and donkeys. Better than talking about nothing or trashing the place. By the way, I think this organisations more like a sheep placid - stupid and easily led! There were a few half hearted bleats of dissent. Agatha, the name of the middle aged woman, looked long, hard and meaningfully at the new Chief Executive, searching for some kind of response, but one didnt come she just kept drawing her cats. She had, in fact, found some brightly coloured crayons in her briefcase and was using them to colour in her sketches. Look, lets formalise this a bit, Barney said somewhat nervously. Formalise! some people scoffed back at him, others doing a double take and stifling a few muffled laughs. Take talk of donkeys, cats and sheep seriously? He must be joking! Barney became suddenly self-conscious, looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet a bit. Lost for words, he felt sweat start to travel down his temples. But Agatha intervened, Yes, why not! Lets get into groups and talk about the animal we think this organisation is and what animal wed like it to be, she said half mockingly. She then continued by almost spitting the words as long as its not cats! at the Chief Executive. That should get us to lunch at least and I do not intend to miss that. Could be the only good thing about the day, Agatha concluded. Nobody seemed particularly keen on the idea, those pressing around the dais looked positively disappointed, but they did it anyway. At least they would get a good lunch (and they would only get into trouble if they lost their tempers). Everybody split into small groups and duly talked about the organisation and what sort of animal it was and what sort of animal it should be. It was hard going and very difficult to take seriously, but lunch and the threat of even worse things happening drove them on. Some people agreed that the organisation was currently a sheep, others that it was a donkey, some thought it was a wild boar - out of control and slightly if not totally mad. Some people, very few, suggested that the organisation was like a gold fish, cockle or some other form of mollusc, but they, sad to say, were generally ignored.

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

Very, very gradually and despite their first reactions and some peoples best efforts at sabotage, the groups began to get caught up in the arguments. They even, surprisingly and despite the enticing smells emanating from the restaurant, missed their sit down lunch, having sandwiches sent in instead. Interestingly, the only person who had the lunch originally planned was the Chief Executive, who had a nice piece of fresh plaice seasoned with lemon juice and served with potatoes and peas. The Board members who had disappeared earlier also failed to materialise for lunch, probably thinking that they would be added to the menu list. About mid afternoon Agatha (she had been with the company 20 years and was just beginning to think she had never had so much fun) suggested that they all got back together to share their views in the main conference hall. They all trooped into the main hall. Barney, walking next to Agatha, felt very relieved that he no longer had to do too much, but also very glad that he had done what he had (for once he would have something interesting to tell people about his work). The Chief Executive had returned to the dais after her lunch (she obviously felt comfortable there) and the cat was still staring down from the screen. The Chief Executive, however, was no longer drawing cats; she was miming one very well in fact. The gathering of managers looked up at her sadly and then proceeded to share their ideas. But they found that however hard they tried they could not agree upon what type of animal their organisation was, or get anywhere near agreeing what type of animal they thought it should be. The discussion really got quite heated. Some people even suspected others of not agreeing so that they could stay at the hotel for an extra night and claim more travel and subsistence expenses. A claim very hotly disputed but thought, on the quiet by some, to be quite a good idea. After an hour or so five main factions presented themselves: those that thought the organisation was a boar and should stay that way; those that thought it was a donkey and should become a thoroughbred racehorse; those that thought it was a sheep and should become a sheepdog; those that thought it was a cat and the one on the screen was as good as any to aspire to; and those that had lost all sense of reason

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

and had begun to make paper hats and other miscellaneous shapes out of spare bits of paper to be found lying around the meeting room. They spoke on past the scheduled end of the day. They even decided to agree to disagree about what type of animal the organisation currently was, concentrating instead upon the animal the organisation wanted to be, but they still could not make progress the boar faction were particularly intransigent in this regard.

Then, on the stroke of midnight, with a significant number of people clutching their temples nursing headaches, the Chief Executive curled up into a ball under the table on the dais, and even more people beginning to see the attraction of making paper hats, a slim young woman with long black hair and wearing gothic makeup, a long figure hugging black dress and black stilettos stood up. She got about two thirds of the halls attention straight away and carefully cleared her throat to get the rest. When all heads were turned towards her she said in a smooth contralto voice, We are not a specific species; we are a more general type of animal; we are a four legged mammal that in most instances has a tail, but the tail part can be negotiable in extreme circumstances. What we want to be is the best four - legged mammal that has ever existed, one that encompasses all the best characteristics of all the animals we have spoken about and many, many more. There was a fairly long, thoughtful, reflective silence and then spontaneous, relieved applause that grew and grew until it became cheering. The young woman in the gothic outfit (Judith from the Sunderland Office) was hoisted up onto shoulders. The boar faction squealed and grunted for joy. The donkey people became thoroughbreds galloping around the hall. The sheep/sheepdog supporters stopped following and began leading the celebrations. The cat faction sat back on its haunches, looking satisfied rather than unimpressed. Even some of the people making paper hats and

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005

ornaments put them to one side for a moment (although they did find this difficult and kept glancing back at them uncertainly). When the dust had settled six months or so later and people were back at work making their organisation the best four legged mammal ever, people remembered their new Chief Executive with affection. She was so well thought of that the organisation had agreed to pay her ongoing sanatorium expenses for the rest of her life if necessary (with business booming they could afford it). Now, on entering the main HQ, recently relocated to the Warrington Office, visitors see four pictures on the wall behind the new, state of the art reception area: one of a strong, young, fit wild boar rushing through a forest; one of an intelligent looking sheepdog at work; one of a thoroughbred racehorse winning a race; and one of a small brown, long haired tortoise shell cat looking mildly unimpressed. Under each picture are the words: We aspire to be the best four legged mammal that has ever existed. Some people think this is very silly, as the pictures and the words have nothing whatsoever to do with what the organisation does. It makes no sense to them. Ah well, the organisation has a tradition, it sends these people very nice paper hats for Christmas.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

orSFkmleandFLz.F>lF

Copyright: Charles M Lines 2005