The Killer Cat

Soon after my mom and dad got married, they returned to my dad's family's house to visit. My grandparents live deep in East Texas. Suffice it to say that it's a whole 'nother world out there.

Their house sat squarely on about fifty acres of forest and pasture. The tall pine trees thrived in the sandy soil that always seem to find its way into the carpets and linoleum floors that hadn't changed at all in thirty years. Pick just about any window of the house and you could see an animal--ducks or chickens, cows or horses. My Peepaw was a farmer/mechanic who could grow or fix anything, and the heaps of half-alive vehicles spread throughout the tall grass of his "backyard" was a testament to both his ingenuity and his pack-rattedness.

My dad returned here with his new bride. After spending a day with the family, they retired to his old bedroom--a smallish room that was illumined at night by a pale light hanging on a nearby telephone pole. The fake moonlight shone through the curtainless window, casting shadows around the unfamiliar interior. It's kind of a creepy place if you haven't spent a lot of time there during the day.

Nanna also had lots of cats. In addition to three or four dogs, the feral cats seemed to multiply to infinity. One of the oldest cats that lived there had been around for at least ten years. Its favorite nook on the property was the eve of the house. It had birthed several litters of kittens up there throughout the years, and it was always a warm, dry place out of the reach of the weather.

Unfortunately, the years had not been kind to this cat. It had gained a considerable amount of weight since its young, lithe days, and it was not as agile as it used to be. It was in the midst of all these diverging circumstances that my mother found herself at one o'clock in the morning.

As she lied awake next to my sleeping father, trying to fall asleep despite the bright pallor of the room, the old cat decided to climb back up into its abode. It climbed up on the stack of pallets and crates that had forever been positioned outside the window and readied itself to make the leap it had successfully executed for years. She gathered herself and jumped, but because of her increased weight was unable to complete the landing. Instead, she slammed spread-eagle onto the bedroom window, her outstretched claws digging into the screen and preserving her from falling.

The thump drew my mother's shocked attention. She turned to the window to find a gargantuan animal desperately attempting to claw through the window and murder her. Its silhouette cast a deathly shadow onto my mom, and she returned by screaming bloody murder and waking up my dad.

After awaking in full-combat mode and realizing my mother was ok, my father did the only thing you can do: he laughed. A lot.

Walking on Snow

The other day I was walking to meeting late at night when my path happened to take me by a plot of uninterrupted snow. The field had accrued a couple feet at least. I don't know what happened to the rest of it.

The snow had melted a little and then frozen back again, leaving a hard shell of ice over the soft snow filling. I kicked the ice and it pushed back. I wondered if I could walk across it.

I eased up onto it with my hiking boots. So far so good.

As I began to amble across it carelessly, a few steps started to crunch through the crust. First one heel and then another pushed itself through the surface. I leveled out my steps to increase surface area and decrease pressure. The surface tension held.

That tactic only worked for so long, though. Soon my precise planning gave way again. I figured out quickly that if I sort of shuffled my feet quickly they didn't break through nearly as bad.

Apparently, I was just heavier by the end though. I walked a few steps without problem, but then out of nowhere a normal step crashed! down to the ground, leaving me with one leg above the snow and the other immersed up to my kneecap in it. I let out a loud yelp. I immediately tried to jump out, but my dry foot jackhammered through the same ice to the same end. If this would've been ice, I would've died.

After several fruitless steps, I bounded back across the field onto the sidewalk from whence I had come. Socks now slightly damp with the melting remnants of snow, I turned again to walk to my meeting. It was totally worth it.

The Window and the Mirror

I just finished reading Good to Great, an exceptional book by Jim Collins. Apparently, I am the last person in the continental United States to read it. Fortunately, its content is still relevant.

Collins drives home several noteworthy points--one of which he calls the "window and the mirror" concept. In describing Level 5 leaders (Collins's consummate leader), the author describes the individuals as passing praise on to others and taking responsibility for mistakes upon themselves. In essence, when things are going well, they "look out the window," and when circumstances are dire, they find the solution in the mirror, identifying something that they themselves can do to make a difference.


This concept is practiced all over the place--nowhere more evident than the sports world. Interview a great quarterback after a fantastic individual performance, and you'll hear comments like, "Our coaches came out with a great gameplan today, and the offensive line was really working hard to protect me. And since the receivers wouldn't let a ball hit the ground, we had a good day through the air." Follow up with the same leader after a team loss and ask him what went wrong. In contrast, you'll hear, "I didn't get it done today. We worked hard, but I did not make the plays I needed to when the game was on the line." Even though the objective reality tells a different story than the quarterback, he takes responsibility but passes on praise.

The concept is effective (at least according to the author's research) and certainly earns the admiration of fans who appreciate selflessness. But is the practice sound philosophically? After all, if the coach of that same team employs that approach 100% of the time, then players are never chided for mistakes in games--the coach takes the blame. If a wife praises her husband consistently but always assumes any problem in the relationship is her fault, then the man is never forced to honestly assess his responsibility in the marriage. Clearly, the subjective reality created by this practice does not always hold water.


A legitimate response to this question might be, "But surely if the coach is humbly taking responsibility then the players will follow his lead, and if the wife is meekly working on herself the husband will as well." That's true. Unfortunately, we live in a broken world with unmotivated and irresponsible people who don't always do the right thing and don't even know what the right thing is oftentimes. Without honest correction and assignment of responsibility from an outside party (a spouse, coach, administrator, or law officer), some people would never own up to anything. 

So what's the balance then? How can this principle be so effective sometimes and ineffective other times? If Aristotle's Law of Noncontradiction is correct, then some other variable must be present. I submit, after approximately 4 minutes of uninterrupted thought on the matter, that this variable is internal vs. external setting.


Interval vs. External Setting. These selfless statements are generally heard in public settings. The CEO is generally quoted by Business Week and the quarterback is always interviewed on national television. Furthermore, these inquiries come from outsiders looking in, seeking to understand the inner-workings of a complex system. Because of the public setting, the leader disperses complements and absorbs criticism. The rules change in different settings, however. 


When I coached softball, I had an unspoken understanding with our head coach: neither one of us would ever undermine the other in front of the players. If the coach was being criticized, it was my responsibility to support him as best I could (whether I agreed with him or not). However, behind closed doors we had frank and candid conversations. In that setting, I had the freedom to offer criticism and speak honestly about our disagreements. We could discuss changes to practices and personnel decisions, but we had those conversations at the proper time--out of range of the players and parents.


The same has to be true for a married couple. Even though your spouse should be your biggest cheerleader,

if that person is not confronting harmful behavior, the relationship will suffer greatly. This is especially true because of the equal standing of both parties. Although it is not a wife's primary responsibility to correct her husband, she is obligated to keep him accountable. The same goes for a coach who is responsible for a team and CEO who runs a business.

So what's the final prognosis on the window/mirror philosophy? I think the heart of the concept is great, rooted deeply in humility and thankfulness. I also believe that an honest assessment of any situation is necessary if you're going to make progress and move from good businesses, good teams, or good marriages to truly great ones. Together, this balance of praise, personal responsibility, and honesty can make those movements happen.