It was the worst week of my career.
A major client, who accounted for nearly 40% of our revenue, had just pulled their contract in a cold, two-sentence email. I spent the night staring at spreadsheets, my heart pounding, trying to figure out how we would survive. I was panicking, convinced my business was about to collapse.
And in the quiet of my apartment, in the middle of my 1 AM spiral, I found myself watching my cat, Hulury. She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t staring at spreadsheets. She was just… being a cat. She stretched, chased a dust bunny, and then curled up to sleep without a care in the world.
In her simple, instinctual behavior, I found the exact roadmap I needed to get through the fire. I didn’t learn these lessons in business school; I learned them from a cat who has no idea she’s a business genius.
Lesson 1: Adapt and land on your feet.
My first reaction to losing the client was to be rigid. I was frozen with fear, my mind locked on the plan that had just been shattered. I felt like a dry branch, ready to snap under the pressure.
Then I saw Hulury misjudge a jump from the bookshelf. For a split second, she was airborne, but she didn’t panic. She twisted her body, relaxed, and landed on all four paws with a soft thud. She shook it off and was gone.
It was a lightbulb moment. Business will knock you down. You can’t be stiff and expect not to break. You have to be like a cat. You have to be adaptable. Instead of obsessing over the plan that was gone, I had to accept the freefall and start thinking about how to land. That night, I stopped looking at old invoices and started a new document: “Plan B.”
Lesson 2: Tend to your wounds, then move on.
The next day, the emotional sting hit me. I felt betrayed by the client and stupid for relying on them so much. My instinct was to call everyone I knew, to complain, to vent, to relive the story of the injustice over and over.
But then I noticed Hulury had a small scratch on her ear from a tussle with a neighborhood stray. She didn’t make a drama out of it. She found a quiet spot in the sun, licked the wound clean, and took care of herself.
I realized that constantly talking about the pain was just keeping the wound open. I’m not saying you should bottle up serious problems, but for the everyday bumps and bruises of entrepreneurship, you have to develop the ability to self-heal. I gave myself one hour to be angry and disappointed. I wrote down everything I was feeling. And then, I let it go. It was time to move on.
Lesson 3: Don’t Give Up on the Goal.
By day three, I was exhausted and demoralized. I had sent out a few emails to potential new clients and received no response. The urge to just give up—to stop trying—was immense.
That afternoon, I was dangling a small toy on a string for Hulury. She jumped for it. She missed. She jumped again. She missed. She crouched, recalculated, and jumped a third, fourth, and fifth time. She did not stop until she had that toy in her paws.
It was a simple, powerful reminder. The difference between success and failure often comes down to who gives up first. My cat wasn’t more talented than the string; she was just more persistent. That afternoon, I sat down and made a list of ten more prospects. I was tired, but I kept jumping.
Lesson 4: Keep Your Claws Hidden Until You’re Ready to Strike.
As I started to formulate a new plan, my instinct was to announce it to the world. I wanted to post on social media, “Big things are coming! Watch this space!” I wanted to project confidence to mask my fear.
But Hulury operates differently. She’s gentle and sweet, her claws always retracted. She doesn’t walk around showing everyone her weapons. She watches, she waits, and only when the perfect moment arises does she strike with speed and precision.
I took her lead. I kept my plans quiet. I worked on a new service offering behind the scenes. I reached out to potential clients privately, gathering feedback without a big public announcement. I waited. Then, when the new service was polished and I had my first new client signed on, I announced it—not as a desperate plan, but as a confident launch.
That week didn’t end with a miracle. I didn’t replace that massive client overnight. But I survived. I landed a few smaller clients, stabilized the business, and learned a profound lesson. The most valuable business advice isn’t always in a book or a seminar. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet wisdom of a creature who knows, by instinct, how to survive.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Hulury is looking at my lunch with a little too much focus. I think she’s about to teach me a lesson in negotiation.
