Mischief in Barcelona

Barcelona. What is this city teaching me?

To live it is to feel it. The cats were an omen. Two Catalonian cats, midnight black. Divided by a twisted gothic metal fence with spires. The angular faces are beautiful and slender. How many times can a face be deconstructed, and yet still be recognizable? When he kisses me, I can feel his whiskers. We are spinning together, I hold him, a close embrace, my heart is exploding and the Latin music moves us. Tenderly, softly, then forcefully and flirtaciously. We want each other.

The following night, the omens are there. A rattling bus pane when there is no wind. Missing my ride again, yet again, yet again. But persistency, desperation, and longing win. The city is empty tonight, but I’m going, I promised. Did I? Was my Spanish understood? Mañana, sí, hasta mañana. In a hurry, maybe it’s too late, I’m sure he’s waiting. Past the shops, cafes. It is Sunday. And I snuck into the city. Past the fountains and balconies. Crosswalk after crosswalk, losing count. Referring to the map, was it here? Torre de qué?

A single black cat, waiting for the other. Its beauty is amplified by its loneliness. My focus is there, we connect. I slow, peer through the dark metal bars. Our eyes meet. Such sharpness in those yellow eyes! Head turning with me, we acknowledge each other, but I have more pressing matters to attend to.

Streets and crosswalks, boutiques, farmácias, and bike racks later. Here! I think I can remember the… of course it is closed. What did I expect? Cold metal shutters cover the entrance, yes on both sides. Damn it. And click, I realize. Flashing to a point. The cat was me.

Running back down the deserted street, I must find it. Tears in my eyes. It was waiting, and did I notice what side of the fence it was on? Of course it has no choice, it meets whoever passes by. Its partner goes where he chooses, comes and leaves again. There are no rules for him. I am panting, and my jacket starts to stick to me in the deep Mediterranean summer.

I spot the building, with curved balconies above, yellow lights, spirets, and towers. And the gate, with the ivy, yes. Looking, searching, hoping. Not here, maybe a little further. Where is it? Further nothing. At last I am leaving, looking back, where is this cat?

And once again, focused, rushing to a point. Yes, I understand now. Meeting and waiting, disappointment, the cat is no more. Broken souls can only withstand so much. I love this animal, the one waiting and now vanished into the emptiness. Too late, for both of us.

A quick stop in a café still open at this hour. Tired Spanish, a gulp of Fanta sitting in a corner with my back to the wall. These people are drunk and noisy. I leave quickly.

Walking back to the Plaça d’Espanya, I wait for my bus. Foolishness. All of it. And as I lean against the signpost, I glance upwards. What is that I see, a movement in the terrace. Lit from behind, I spot them. Together, holding each other, enjoying each other. How do they define love, I wonder? Is it the comfort of being together? Is it unexplainable happiness? Is it passion and lust? Is it a chance meeting of two strangers? I have no answers, and again give my tears to the cat as tribute.