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[Note from the Proprietor: Our current What I Learned From Animals group writing project, along with my friendship with Karen Putz and Stephen Hopson, put me in mind of this story.]

Back when I was single, my uncle’s horde of cats got a little big for them to handle (I think they had somewhere between 5 and 10 at any given time), so he gave me one. I have no idea what breed he was (no doubt one of the 57 varieties of, er, Heinz), but aside from being fully-grown and healthy, he had two unusual characteristics: he was a bona-fide albino (complete with the pink skin and eyes), and he was totally deaf!

Now, if you’ve ever owned an animal, you know the value in being able to get its attention, right? (And I’m mainly talking about pets, as in cats, dogs and perhaps the odd rabbit or somesuch. Lizards, snakes, turtles, or anything weird won’t respond to anything anyway. Although come to think of it, cats may on occasion fall in the “weird” category too. But I digress.)

I mean, when the dog is about to leave a little surprise package in your favorite chair, or maybe they’re just on the verge of digging in the petunias you just planted, well, it helps to be able to shout “No!” knowing you’ll get their attention, right?

But what do you do with a deaf one?

What’s in a Name?

The first question was, what would I call him? My uncle named him Snowflake, which was fitting considering his totally white color. But after considerable debate with myself (and don’t worry - I won!), I ended up calling him WhiteCat (with a sporadic StupidCat or DarnedCat thrown in, depending on the circumstances). Hey, what’s the difference? I mean, he couldn’t hear it anyway, right?

I quickly discovered WhiteCat was really fun to have around the apartment, which was my first place since starting a “real” job. (I mean something that wasn’t temporary, like working at a fast food joint; I was a Piping Designer back then.) Although it was really small (at least by American standards), it had all the room we needed.

One problem was WhiteCat had a touch of what you might call “stir-craziness”. That’s when you get so bored with your surroundings you start acting silly just to relieve the monotony.

For instance, I came home from work sometimes to find WhiteCat rebounding around the wall of the apartment like a big white rubber ball. His race-course’s starting block was on the head of the bed at one end of the apartment, bounce off the side wall (literally!) and hit the floor running as he skipped around the floor-to-ceiling bookcase (which divided the studio into two “areas”). Then, he’d rocket up one end of the couch, leap across to the other end, rebound off the wall over on that side, zinging around the other side of the bookcase to finally end up back on the bed again.

When I came home from work, I’d sometimes catch him in mid-leap. It was always hilarious to see him try to instantly transform from “Shar-el-Khan, the flying terror” (I always imagined that as the name he gave himself in his own, uh, language) to “Oh! You’re home! Uh, I’m not doin’ nothin’. Honest!”

He also developed the annoying habit of sleeping on my pillow. Whichever end of the pillow I wasn’t using at the time, there he’d be like a big, soft, hot water bottle. The only problem I ever had with it was every time I turned over, I’d end up with a face full of cat! Overall, we had a great time together.

Somebody Hand Me That Baseball Bat

I did learn something from ol’ WhiteCat, though.

When he was (or was about to be) bad, I couldn’t just shout his name to get his attention. Oh, it was easy if he happened to be looking in my general direction. A wave, or other sudden motion always stopped him in his tracks.

Otherwise, I had to get creative. Like, when he was on the carpeted floor, I could sometimes pound the floor very hard and he’d feel the vibration enough to turn and look around. That only worked, though, if he was close - within 5 feet or so.

There was also the “grab the nearest object and throw it” technique. I quickly realized this was only useful if a) the objects being thrown were either unbreakable or worthless, and b) if there were a decent supply of said objects lying around at all times. So instead of going broke (er, sorry!) buying only cast iron decorating accessories, I usually kept a good supply of nurf balls (soft, squishy foam balls) all over the place.

Actually, this worked rather well. Aside from the nearly endless supply of play-toys he had at his beck and call, it promised I’d always have one handy with which to get his attention. And they didn’t hurt him; in fact, it usually distracted him enough to get him to start playing with the ball. (He, like some humans, apparently had a somewhat, um, abbreviated attention span.)

Anyway, it meant I couldn’t be, well, lazy with him. When I needed his attention, I couldn’t take shortcuts, like issuing just a grunt, or at most, a shout. Nope; I had to physically get up and do something. It was a pain in the tookus, actually - but the lesson was learned.

Hello? Hello? Hey, is This Thing On?

Now before we go any farther, please don’t run and tell Karen or Stephen I said to whack ‘em with nurf balls when you want to get their attention (‘cause if you do, I’ll have to tell them you lie like a rug!) OK, now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let’s get on the lesson, shall we?

Good communication, as you have no doubt discovered, is not always an easy thing to accomplish. I mean, it’s tough enough when you consider the different kinds of channels (face-to-face, email, phone, letter, etc.) but the fact is, even the methods with the broadest bandwidth won’t guarantee clear and unambiguous communication.

I mean c’mon; it’s happened to you, hasn’t it? You had a lengthy, face-to-face conversation with someone (even someone you know very well), yet you still manage to come away with the nagging thought, “Now I wonder what they meant by that?” Yep; thought so.

Anyway, there are plenty of things we can do to assure ourselves that good communication is, in fact, happening. But no matter what you do, if you don’t first take care of one single thing, then all your efforts will be in vain.

Know what it is? Yes, you in the back with the pink, fuzzy slippers. Hey, good; you got it in one! Yep, here’s my super-duper, sure-fire, never-fail first step, required for all good communication:

Hey, it got your attention, didn’t it?

See, before I could even begin to express myself to WhiteCat, I had to get his eyes focused on me. Nothing else would do. And that’s the point of this little soliloquy; until you accomplish this, steps two through infinity won’t work!

A long while back, a comedian/singer named Mark Lowry (a wonderful singer, a hilarious comedian, and a member of Bill Gaither’s Gaither Vocal Band) was brought in to speak to a citywide youth gathering at our church in Atlanta. The auditorium was completely packed with young people, and it wasn’t just a church crowd, either. It was sponsored by Rapha (an organization dedicated to combating drug abuse), and the show’s promoters had beaten the bushes to get the word out about this event.

Anyway, as the appointed time approached, everyone in the audience was naturally talking to each other very loudly. Hey, you know how it works, right? As the crowd noise got louder, everyone compensated by talking louder, too. Before too long, everybody was shouting at the top of their lungs.

Well, that’s what greeted Mark as he stepped out on the stage. For about two minutes, he simply stood there and looked around at the audience with that little mischievous grin he’s famous for. I just knew something out of the ordinary was about to happen. Nor was I disappointed.

Finally, he took a deep breath and, at the absolute top of his lungs he shouted, “Shaaaaduuuuup!”

Well, for about 15 seconds, that crowd of rowdy youngsters went dead silent! I mean, you could have heard your fingernails grow. Talk about your attention-getter! Eventually the background noise started up again, but it was very subdued. I’m tellin’ ya, Mark spoke for a full 45 minutes, but from that moment on, he had their attention!

Now, again, I’m not saying you gotta whack someone on the head to get their attention (at least, save that for a last resort!) But all I’m sayin’ is, without it, you might as well go home.

Tell Me a Story

How about you? Have you ever had an incident where you thought you’d communicated clearly, but it turned out, er, somewhat differently? I realize this is a rhetorical question, but did you, um, learn from it? Which side of the conversation were you on, the sender or the receiver? What steps do you use to make sure you’ve communicated clearly?

[Hey, if you've ever learned a lesson or two from an animal of any kind, then why not consider joining us for this month's What I Learned From... group writing project? All you have to do is click on that cute little link there and it'll take you to the details. We're open for submissions until Sunday night, June 15^th, so you still have plenty of time!]

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