Ah, but who’s to say that Triskel truly *can’t* play the piano? For many of the villagers, it was easy to look at a missing leg and conclude that certain pursuits were out of reach. Yet the real stumbling block for most cats—three-legged or otherwise—isn’t so much about physical limbs as it is about disposition. Cats are known to be free-spirited creatures, more inclined to lounge in sunbeams or stalk unsuspecting dust motes than commit to the rigorous practice scales demand.Triskel’s three-legged gait certainly sets tongues wagging, but the magic of performance doesn’t hinge on the count of one’s limbs—rather on the dedication and will to master the art. A cat’s paws, bereft of opposable thumbs and more accustomed to padding stealthily across floors, were never designed to dance across a keyboard with the nuance of a concert pianist. Triskel would need more than an extra paw; he’d need the patience to learn the keys, the discipline to rehearse, and the inclination to persevere when the notes soured.So perhaps, in the end, it isn’t that Triskel *cannot* play the piano, but that a cat’s nature isn’t to be shaped by society’s expectations. There’s always the possibility that, given time and the right motivation—some especially succulent fish, perhaps—Triskel might just surprise everyone by hopping onto the piano stool and striking a chord or two. Until then, he’ll likely keep his secrets close, content to be exactly who he is: a three-legged wonder who charts his own course, piano or no piano.
