Curiosity Kills ONLY the Cat: How Inquisitiveness Forges Everlasting Business Relationships

Meules, Milieu du jour - Claude Monet

We’ve all heard the warning: "Curiosity killed the cat." It’s a proverb that cautions against unnecessary investigation or experimentation, implying that prying where you don’t belong will lead to trouble. In business, this can sometimes translate into a fear of going off-script, of asking personal questions, or of looking beyond the spreadsheet in front of us.

I’d like to propose an amendment: Curiosity kills only the cat. For those of us building professional partnerships, genuine curiosity isn't a danger—it’s the most powerful tool in our arsenal.

Years ago, I was pursuing a significant software contract with a Qatari banker. For the sake of this story, let’s call him Mr. X. Initially, he was the ideal prospect: enthusiastic, engaged, and confident that our solution was a perfect fit for his institution. He had the authority to sign but needed a final nod from top management.

Then, the silence began.

For weeks, my polite follow-ups were met with a familiar chorus of delays: “I haven’t had the chance to discuss it,” “Just back from a trip,” “Could you resend the contract?” The cycle was frustrating and, frankly, confusing. The deal had seemed so certain.

Months later, during a brief visit to Doha, he granted me a meeting. I quickly sensed his reluctance; he clung to small talk, deftly avoiding any mention of the proposal. Recognizing the stalemate, I decided on radical honesty.

“Mr. X,” I said gently, “if the solution isn’t right, if the budget isn’t there, or if you didn’t get the approval, it’s okay to say so. I understand. We’re professionals. Sometimes deals don’t happen, and that’s part of the business.”

The effect was immediate. He visibly relaxed, his professional guard dropping as he apologized and explained a company-wide budget freeze. While he loved the solution, pushing management was impossible at that time. The relief was mutual—finally, I had the truth.

But the meeting wasn't over. As we spoke, my attention was caught by the screensaver on his desktop—a beautiful painting that felt familiar. As an enthusiast of the Impressionist movement, I recognized the style reminiscent of Monet’s Meules, but something was off, slightly different.

Seizing on this new thread, I nodded in understanding about the budget, then gestured to his screen. “If you don’t mind me asking, who is the painter? It looks like a Monet, but I don’t recognize it.”

His face transformed. Surprise and delight replaced his previous apologetic tone. “You know the Impressionists?” he asked. I confirmed I did, and he revealed with pride that he was the painter—it was his own work, a photo of which he used as a screensaver.

The dynamic of our meeting shifted entirely. He asked if I painted; I explained that while I didn’t, I loved paintings, the impressionists in particular, but my passion was photography, and I collected vintage cameras. To my astonishment, he walked to a closet in his office and opened it to reveal a collection of classic reflex cameras. Among them was my personal favorite: the Canon AE-1. It was his favorite, too.

We were no longer a salesperson and a prospect. We were two enthusiasts sharing a moment of genuine connection.

The conversation flowed from art to photography, and as we wrapped up, he did something unprecedented. He invited me to dinner with his family that very evening.

I accepted without hesitation. That night, he and his son picked me up from my hotel. I was welcomed into his home, introduced to his wife and daughter, and given a tour of his beautiful paintings and full camera collection. We shared a meal at a modest but fantastic Pakistani restaurant, eating biryani and kebabs with our hands, talking and laughing for hours.

It was an unforgettable experience in Doha, built not on a transaction, but on shared human interest.

Weeks later, my phone rang. It was Mr. X. He had successfully convinced management to lift the budget freeze for our project. The signed contract was on its way.

I had secured the deal and a valuable client. But the far greater victory was the friendship forged that day. This experience cemented a crucial lesson for me: People like to do business with people they know, like, and trust.

You can have the best product and represent the most prestigious company, but without a genuine human connection, especially in regions where relationships are a fundamental pillar of business, you are missing the key ingredient.

So, the next time you’re in a meeting, be curious. Look beyond the laptop. Read the room, notice the details, and dare to ask the question that isn’t on the agenda. Because while curiosity might be risky for felines, for professionals seeking to build something lasting, it is nothing less than a superpower.

Curiosity killed only the cat. It gave this business relationship nine lives.