A Pedacito Of Mallorca, Spain
Updated: Jun 19
Finca is one of those Spanish words that doesn’t really have a direct translation. It’s often translated as either farm or rural estate. They don’t have to be fancy like an estate and they don’t have to be agricultural. Just not in a city or the suburbs.
It’s very popular in Mallorca to rent Fincas. Sometimes they are actually old converted farmhouses, sometimes newer properties, but all are called Fincas.
For this trip to Mallorca, I had found a particular Finca on Vrbo and we were headed there from Ireland. It was certainly a challenge to find though. Despite being just a few miles from the main highway, there was no address.
Feeling fairly certain we had the right location, I pulled into the driveway. Before I could even open the car door, a gray little blur sped towards us, eeking out meows as it did. As soon as I stepped out, he was rubbing on my leg, this cute little guy.
Once inside, It was slightly heartbreaking to leave the little fella outside since he clearly wanted to come in, but what were we to do? Who was this little cat and why was he so attached to us?
The next morning as we had no food, we scurried off to the nearby town of Arta for breakfast at a cafe. Afterward, we walked around and explored the ancient town and up to the castle that the town is built around before hitting the grocery store.
As we shopped, the cat crossed my mind and we had a small discussion over buying food for him. Would he still be there? What would we even feed him? We decided against it but stocked up on human food and coffee and tea.
Not long after we returned home it had started to rain; we hurried inside and began to put away groceries and saw no signs of the little guy. And then I looked out of the kitchen window.
There he was, huddled upright to the glass. My heart really was breaking for this guy now. There was an overhang and he could stay dry, but it seemed cruel to me.
As the rain continued, I couldn’t take it any longer. I opened the door to the patio and inside he strolled; as if he owned the place. After taking a tour of the house, he returned to the kitchen and got very demanding.
I scoured the fridge and decided on deli meats and he seemed happy with that. It was at this point I realized this cat needed a name. I'm not sure why, but I decided to call him Sancho.
The next day we drove across the Island to the famous and formidable Cap de Formentor. The roads are famously treacherous and windy and as amazingly beautiful as it is, I don’t think I could have driven another 5 minutes.
But as soon as we pulled up, there was Sancho, happy as ever to see us. Without a thought, I let him in and we all had dinner together.
The remaining 4 days of our stay, as we’d return from different excursions, Sancho was there to greet us (almost) every time we returned home. And we happily fed him various deli meats and eggs and let him sleep inside at night.
As it turns out, after talking to some other friends who have rented Fincas in Mallorca and elsewhere in Spain, they just tend to come with cats. It’s more or less a given.
I was truly sad to leave him behind and I sometimes wonder what he’s up to these days. And if anybody else feeds him salami.
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