The Three-Legged Cat

Non-Fiction by Michelle Becker

 

 “Oh,” Joe added, “and don’t freak out, but their cat is missing a leg.  It’s no big deal, but they’re a little sensitive about it.” 

Okay, cat’s missing a leg – as if I’d notice. 

Joe and I had been dating for about four months and he now felt compelled to introduce me to the list of important people in his life.  To this day, I still don’t understand why it is so important to make such a production out of meeting the friends and relatives of your current sex-mate.  But, here we were off to Ann Arbor to meet Jim and his wife Liza. 

Under normal circumstances, as a passenger I am prone to napping during any car trip lasting more than thirty minutes. The trip to Ann Arbor certainly qualified.  However, given the newness of our relationship, I was hardly at ease to just doze off.  Instead, I listened to Joe’s accounts of the couple I was to meet.  They were the perfect couple against which any of his own relationships would be measured (incidentally, Jim and Liza have since divorced.) 

Joe and Jim had met during high school while working together at a local movie theater.  Both were avid movie buffs and pot smokers. My mind drifted as I imagined their conversations in the smoke-filled projection room. The details of their conversations were vague, but reminded me of Chris Farley’s character on Saturday Night Live asking, “Do you remember in that movie when…?” and answering “That was cool.”  

Jim later went on to study film at Michigan State where he met and later married Liza, a recently appointed Spanish teacher.  Joe would visit the campus for the weekend parties spending Fridays and Saturdays in an intoxicated haze, while Sundays were reserved for the earnest pursuit of returnable bottles and cans from the dorms to finance Jim’s film.  The finished film eventually received an amateur award and has actually been presented on the Bravo network. It was becoming clear that Jim is talented and Liza is intelligent, which is, for me, just cause for intimidation. 

Joe and I began our relationship with a five-hour conversation which left me convinced that Joe was much more interesting than I could ever hope to be.  He was a graphic designer – a salaried, professional artist.  His friends were artists, musicians, writers and aspiring actors and filmmakers.  He had studied design in Europe and had met celebrities.  He was clearly living a life that I, already divorced with no education past high school and two small children, could only dream about.  I later discovered that the only difference between a professional artist and a starving artist is that a professional artist can almost afford his tiny apartment.  I have since been similarly disappointed by the artsy friends who’ve amounted to nothing more than shallow, pompous, untalented hacks with an impressive degree.  But, prior to these realizations, I was in awe.

 Jim and Liza were ranked as such.  They had traveled extensively.  They were knowledgeable in the arts and philosophy.  I was panic-stricken by the idea of sharing lunch with these people and having to speak without the aid of alcohol or a thesaurus.  My anxiety approached epic proportions as we exited the freeway and I searched unrewarded at the back of my mind for anything worthy of contributing to a conversation.  Poor Joe was to reveal his new bumbling idiot girlfriend to his fascinating friends who would certainly be gravely disappointed.

 Ann Arbor is Mecca for the pretentious, ex-hippy-tree-hugging suburbanites of the world.  It is home to vegetarian liberals who believe all should be free live to their lives in any way they see fit.  And, if you’re not doing it their way, you’re absolutely wrong.  “How much longer?” I asked, flicking my spent cigarette out the window and reaching for another.

 “About 10 minutes,” he replied flashing a disapproving look as I raised the lighter to my waiting salvation. I spent the next ten minutes recounting the highlights. 

  “You’ve known Jim since high school…”

 “But we went to different schools” he interjected.

 “Okay, but you’ve been friends that long.  He met Liza in college.  You stood up in their wedding, lived with the two of them for a short time while finishing college and they have a cat with one leg missing.  That’s it in a nutshell?”

 “You’re not going to be tested.”

 Joe maneuvered the car into Jim and Liza’s driveway and I quickly tossed my cigarette out of the car window in an attempt to avoid their property aiming for the street.  I missed. 

 We were greeted by the couple with huge smiles on their faces.  It seems they were quite excited for this meeting.  I can’t recall my exact perception of how Jim would look, but, as so frequently occurs, I was shocked to find him so different than I had imagined.  I generally don’t create visual images of women before I meet them, so I had no expectations for Liza, but I had pictured Jim to be very unattractive based on Joe’s stories.  As it turned out, he was very tall, about six foot three inches, and thin.  His hair was disheveled and his clothing unassuming, but his eyes portrayed air of genuine creative spirit.  Liza on the other hand appeared quite plain in contrast.  I briefly searched her average face for something remarkable that this attractive man could have found so enticing.   

 After a quick introduction, Liza exited to another room remaining a part of the meeting with short bits of information shouted from the kitchen.  Jim provided a tour of the house and brief explanation of the current status of his script.  Returning to the living room, we were graced momentarily by the presence of the three-legged cat.

 Why did Joe feel he had to point out the cat’s shortcomings?  Did he think I was so small-minded or uneducated that I would have come unraveled at the sight of the cat?  In all honesty, if he hadn’t mentioned anything about the poor creature, I probably would not have noticed.  I saw the cat peek out from around a corner and actually had to look twice before realizing that it was in fact the ill-fated cat.

 We left the house moments later to drive downtown for lunch.  At this point, I had said nothing more than greeting pleasantries and short “yes” or “no” replies. I was nervous about contributing more to a conversation.  But, in general, I was enjoying the discussions thus far and was relieved to find that I might actually like these people.  I was also pleased to discover that Jim and I had a shared interest in obscure ‘80’s alternative music and the movies showcasing those songs.  I just may have something to talk about after all.

 We pulled into a parking structure and began walking towards the street when it caught my eye.  Liza had a prosthetic leg hidden within her jeans.  Joe very intently prepared me for the cat, but said nothing of Liza.  Did Joe know?  Was this a recent development? 

 That’s when it happened. I freaked out.  For the remainder of the afternoon I could think of nothing else.  All conversations were a blur, I have no recollection of what I had to eat or drink.  Had the cat never been mentioned, I would have noticed Liza’s leg and went on with the day without a second thought.  But, the fact that Joe failed to mention Liza’s handicap after a short speech about a cat left me dumbfounded and confused.

 “You made it a point to prepare me for the cat’s missing leg, but you say nothing about Liza’s?” I almost yelled as we finally pulled out of their driveway.

 “Oh, yeah… I never really thought about it.  Why?  Did it freak you out?”

 Michelle Becker, Age 30-something, Contact: mbecker03@twmi.rr.com
Copyright 2003 Michelle Becker
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Posted 01/26/2004