You’re going to like this post. I’m Going To Show You Why My Cat Would Probably Be A Better Trader Than Most People. Seriously.
I’ve got a cat, Frankie. When I first saw him he was just a stray kitten roaming around the neighborhood with his momma and sibling cats.
Come winter the momma cat and the other kittens had disappeared, but Frankie was still around. He more or less adopted the area under my porch as his home.
I started to feed him, give him fresh water after awhile. The first few times I did that it was because I wanted to make sure he had something to eat and all this. After I’d fed him a couple of times the little jerk got on a schedule. I usually wake up around 4am, Exercise, shower, eat plan my day and then start working around 4:45.
So Frankie gets this schedule of his down. He shows up around 5am every morning and then again around 3:30-4pm. Once I’d been doing that for a while he acted as though I’d entered into a binding contract with him to provide food and water twice a day. If I did not have anything out he come up to the door and just howl and groan and cry. Then he would take his little paws and just keep pitter pattering em on the door until I got sick of his patheticness and gave him food.
All through the summer and into fall it keeps going on the same. Then we had our first big winter storm. So as I was sitting there watching the snow fall and blow, listening to the wind howell I got to feeling a little bad for him. I decided to try bribing him with scrambled eggs to come out.
He comes out and I grab him.
Totally mayhem! He’s digging every claw he’s got into me, he’s biting me so much and so hard I sorta had to wonder if he thought he was trying out to replace the villain in Jaws!
When I was in my early teens I used to get in a lot of fights, mostly because my cousin and I were idiots. We came up with some grand plan that if we beat the crap out of all the guys in town a few years older than us surely the girls would realize how studly we were. It didn’t work out exactly as planned because we forgot to take into account that a lot of the guys we’d be fighting with would be brothers or cousins and whatnot of these girls we wanted to have like us. It kinda backfired because not only did they not end up liking us, plenty ended up straight out hating us. I guess 13/14 year olds have never been known for good strategic planning.
Anyway, I got off on a tangent there, I’m sorry. But the reason I brought it up to talk a little more about Frank.
He was freaking tough. He did more damage to me in about 20 seconds than what a lot of people did in a fist fight.
Once I had him in he was pretty chill and basically just wanted to be laying around.
A few days later the snows all cleared up and its getting a bit warmer, so I figure it’s time for Frankie to hit the bricks.
He must have thought we had a brand new contract and I was screwing him over though, because when he realized I was gonna be putting him back outside he went crazy and tried to tear me up again. It was worse than when I tried to bring him in.
So this is about 8am. Right away he’s standing at the door howling and groaning and crying. I had my office in a walkout basement and he walked around and got up in the window down there to make sure I knew how pathetic he was. This went on until about 1. When he finally left I was so excited I almost wanted to have a party.
But, I should have been smart enough to realize that this wouldn’t be the end of it.
Around 930 he shows up again. Same thing. Gets to be 10, same thing. 11, same bs. Its getting to be about fifteen minutes to midnight and I’m sitting there thinking doesn’t his damn throat get sore or something?!!
I finally go outside and sit on the bench. He jumps up onto my lap and is pretty happy, purring, knocking his head into me etc. I’m losing my resolve not to let him come live in the house. As we were sitting there I tried to explain to him that you know, hey – it might be warmer in there in the winter and cooler in the summer with a regular meal schedule, but if you’re gonna live in the house I’m gonna have to get your balls cut off.
I mean if someone told me I could only live with them if I got my balls cut off, you’d think my tennis shoes were jet engines- cos I’d be flying and getting as far away from you as quickly as I could.
But, he stayed, seemed that he agreed. So now I’ve had this cat for five or six years or whatever.
Frankie knew what he wanted.
He was determined to get it.
And he was annoyingly persistent.
He refused to take no for an answer.
So now all of this brings me to my final point here.
The thing that really amazes me, sometimes even makes me feel a little bad is this: I like to share a little bit of my knowledge with people sometimes. I’ve made good money online for 15 or so years. I talk to a lot of people who are starting a business online. Almost every day I’ll talk to at least a few people. I don’t do any type of coaching or anything like that, I’m busy enough as it is with my other businesses, but sometimes I’ll just talk to a person for a few minutes and try to help em out.
Most people just give up. They will only try once and then leave. A few might try twice and if a person has actually tried three times most of em act like I should be giving them a medal!
Well, the world, and certainly nobody in business, is going to be giving you a medal just because you think you should have been successful by now cos ya tried two or three whole times!
So what – only the persistent get what they want. If a stupid mangy stray alley cat can figure that shit out, why can’t most people?