Chapter Text
Seokjin first saw the cat from the loft of his rented treehouse which overlooked one of San Juan’s quieter neighborhoods. The animal pranced along the narrow street with an air of superior indifference, her tortoiseshell coat a perfect match for the frond-strewn sidewalk. As she crossed beneath the wrought-iron spiral staircase leading up into the treehouse, she cast a cursory glance into the loft, revealing a divided face – one half sable chocolate, the other marmalade orange.
Tail high and all alone, the cat moved with confidence and purpose, ignoring an old woman with a trundle cart heading toward the market. She skirted along the base of the old church, where piles of bricks mouldered beneath the blue tarps of pending renovations, before dipping beneath a scrubby fenceline and vanishing from sight.
The image left an indelible mark on him.
Seokjin had been in Old San Juan for roughly a month, arriving in Puerto Rico from New York before eventually, some day, continuing on to Seoul. It was a trip he had planned with his husband, Julian, until seven weeks ago, while admiring the buds of the cherry trees in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, Julian decided he no longer wanted to do the whole marriage thing. Apparently, that had been Seokjin’s deal, as if he had somehow magically coerced Julian into the arrangement six years earlier, and now the spell had broken.
Seokjin boarded the plane at JFK, forcing himself to follow through with the plan, thinking the change in scenery would help him get used to being alone.
In his first few days in San Juan, Seokjin noticed several of these street cats. None wore collars, though most bore the telltale ear notch of a catch-and-release. It seemed there were very few restrictions regarding these cats. They lounged with equal nonchalance upon the steps of landmark cathedrals as they did on the sun-warmed hoods of parked cars.
While the cats were not welcomed in the open markets, neither were they shooed away. Seokjin caught glimpses of flicking tails beneath market stalls. Nightly, when he went out for dinner, he saw the green glint of their eyes from dusky back alleys. Once in the sun-splashed walkway of La Puerta de San Juan, he witnessed a family with two small children offering a brindle tabby a paper bowl of ice cream. Another time, Seokjin watched as three sleek grey cats demanded the full attention of a security guard outside the Hotel El Convento, and – treats in hand – he smilingly obliged them all.
Beyond doubt, the cats ruled the old citadel, coming and going as they pleased, but there was something about this cat with her shabby confidence that stirred an awakening in Seokjin. She was so at ease in her fur, so aloof and self-reliant. He could picture her in an alley behind a sleepy pescador, waiting for scraps from the expectant kitchen staff, but he could just as easily see her stalking lizards among the rocks that framed the shore.
Before the cat was even a memory, Seokjin thought, “That’s who I want to be.” And so began his obsession.
^x^ ^x^ ^x^
Seokjin adored his tranquil mornings on the elevated porch of his treehouse, his only companions a cup of Cafe Volcanica and the ever-present coqui frogs that sang from the garden below. Though he had yet to meet the industrious property manager, Seokjin knew her by the notes she left pinned to the outdoor kitchen’s antique fridge. Notes like: Hibiscus tea for you, freshly brewed! And, Mallorca Bread from La Panaderia, baked this morning, sugar free!
These brief messages were his only contact with the outside world, yet instinctively, Seokjin knew he was letting himself off the hook. Any fool could be alone behind closed doors, where he could chat his days away with his friends in New York – Jimin, who was consumed with worry, and Yoongi, who was vaguely amused.
Seokjin’s ultimate goal was to be comfortable in a restaurant on his own. Or in a cafe. Or on the beach. He wanted to learn to like his own company, to be comfortable in his own skin.
But whatever. For now, his mornings in the treehouse were a start. People rented the rooms beneath him, couples who came and went in rented cars, bound for waterfall hikes and secret beaches. Seokjin never interacted with them. That had to count for something.
The bread from La Panaderia was crusty and tough, and the tea, though cold, tasted bitter. Seokjin didn’t mind, though. It suited his mood. He felt wistful and forlorn, and was enchanted, perhaps in spite of himself, by the opportunistic ants who infiltrated the sugar bowl to feast upon its sweetness.
Anyway, it wasn’t like Seokjin hadn’t gone out. He went out every day. He toured Old San Juan on foot, losing himself in the butter yellows and lemonade pinks of the city’s narrow streets. He stretched out on the grass of El Castillo, listening to the crash of surf and the lilts of laughter. He hiked La Paseo del Morro, amused by the unlikely juxtaposition of iguanas, cats, and falcons cohabitating among the rocks.
His Fitbit informed him that he walked 25,000 steps each day he was in Puerto Rico. For a man who typically tread the distance from his Chelsea apartment to the subway, he felt that his current level of activity warranted a slow start to his morning. So he sipped his coffee and waited for the cat to return.
At lunch time, with no sign of his feline compadre, Seokjin picked at his leftover paella from the night before. He found mention of Barrachina’s Restaurant in a favorite travel blog as the birthplace of the piña colada. As he took his seat at a corner table, Seokjin felt certain that the restaurant’s balmy interior paired with its fruity cocktails would soothe him enough that he could sit through the entire meal alone.
Three bites in, however, he caved to his self-consciousness and asked for the meal to go.
He placed a flaky bit of fish, a shrimp, and a dollop of cream on a saucer, which he then took down to the sidewalk, hoping to lure the cat back this way. He returned to his loft and its open-air shower stall, where he bathed among dripping moonflower vines, thrilling at the borderline indecency of basically showering outdoors.
While standing in the sun-bright stall, breathing in the coconut scent of the organic sugar scrub, he thought about his trip so far. Already he had experienced so many things: culture, art, incomparable food. New York had this, too, as did Seoul where he lived until he emigrated with Julian, but he had long ago stopped noticing. Daily life took over. Tourists in both of his home cities became annoyances, obstacles around which he had to navigate if he ever hoped to get things done.
Here in San Juan, Seokjin became an expert eavesdropper, lingering behind tour groups without actually joining. He would slink back, spooning up limber de coco while gleaning facts that intrigued him before detaching and wandering away.
Whether in New York, San Juan, or Seoul, Seokjin felt invariably the same about society: always on the outskirts, yearning to fit in but never quite managing. It was why Seokjin loved being married. He found comfort in being part of something. He had been good at it, he thought. Supportive, companionable, an integral cog…
And he always enjoyed learning things. He liked to listen. His enduring interest in the world made him feel less useless, less alone. So he gathered his facts close, recounting them in the outdoor shower as the steam enveloped him.
For example:
In 1493, Christopher Columbus landed in Puerto Rico during his second voyage to the New World. He changed the name of the island from Borikén to San Juan Bautista, claiming it for Spain. He never returned.
Since the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1898, Puerto Rico has been a territory of the United States, but it operates as a self-governing commonwealth.
In the rain forest of El Yunque, it has been known to rain coqui frogs. Because they are so small and almost weightless, at times of high humidity, the frogs float unharmed to the forest floor.
Puerto Rico has dozens of uninhabited islands and about 270 miles (435 kilometers) of beaches, some with coral sand, some with black magnetic sand, and some with sea glass. The island uses both Imperial and metric systems of measurement, which Seokjin finds comforting coming from the US and Korea.
Also helpful to Seokjin: Puerto Rico’s official languages are Spanish and English, particularly nice when his husband (ex-husband) was fluent in English, Spanish, and French, which made Seokjin semi-fluent in Spanish by default.
At one time, San Juan had a tremendous issue with vermin. To combat this problem, the Spanish brought in cats. Of course, this solution worked brilliantly, but eventually, the cats took over the city. Some felt the feral cat population, which numbered in the hundreds, would become a problem of its own, but citizens banded together to create the Save A Gato foundation, a volunteer organization that traps, tags, and treats the animals so that they can continue to protect the city in peace.
Each guide presented such facts to their tour before raising their colored flag to signal the move to their next destination, at which point Seokjin would melt away into a side street or alley, greeted, usually, by the flickering eyes of one of Old San Juan’s cats.
None of these facts could distract Seokjin from the details of his own life. While rinsing clean, he ran through his own internal checklist:
He was 1,600 miles from his home in New York and 13,680 kilometers from his home in Seoul.
He had one husband who was currently filing a 28-page divorce decree.
He had one Chelsea apartment, half empty.
They had more disagreements than he could count.
As well as a hundred weekend getaways.
Twelve celebrated birthdays and roughly 2,190 happy nights.
Seokjin shut off the shower and towel-dried his hair, feeling lonely and hollow, but less sour now that he was clean. He watched the sidewalk for the cat who had become the central figure of his fascination, but despite his offering, she had not returned.
He got dressed and contemplated his evening. He had come to Puerto Rico not to observe but to grow. He proclaimed as much in his texts to Jimin and Yoongi. What would they say if he told them he thought a street cat could be his teacher? That from her steely aloofness, Seokjin had much to learn?
Probably that he was losing it. And probably, it was true.
Not that it mattered anyway. This cat, it seemed, was indifferent to shrimp.