Setting: A cozy sidewalk café in Seville, with the sound of distant flamenco music and the clink of coffee cups. The two friends, Lucía (the superstitious one) and Mateo (the rational thinker), are sipping café con leche and sharing a plate of churros.
Lucía: (gasps and clutches her chest) ¡Madre mía! Did you see that black cat cross the street just now?
Mateo: (takes a casual sip) Yep. Looked like it was in a hurry. Maybe it had a date.
Lucía: You joke, but now we’ll have bad luck for at least three days. And you know cats have seven lives here in Spain, not nine like in those American movies. They’re magical creatures.
Mateo: Magical? Lucía, it’s just a cat. A very cute one, I’ll admit, but still just a regular biological organism—muscles, neurons, fur, the works. No spellbooks.
Lucía: You say that, but how do you explain my tía Carmen’s cat, Benito? He fell off the fourth-floor balcony twice, got hit by a Vespa once, and survived that gas leak. That’s four down—only three lives left.
Mateo: Or… Benito is just really lucky. Or resilient. Cats are built to survive falls. Their bodies twist midair to land on their feet—what’s it called—“the cat righting reflex.” It’s physics, not witchcraft.
Lucía: Physics! Always with the science. You don’t understand. These things are felt, Mateo. Not measured. And why seven lives in Spain? Not nine?
Mateo: That part is cultural. You know that, right? In Arabic tradition, seven is considered a sacred number—it represents perfection and protection. Spain was heavily influenced by Arabic culture for centuries. So the seven lives thing? Probably a leftover from that.
Lucía: [nods slowly] Hmm… so you’re saying even the superstition has a logical root?
Mateo: Exactly. Superstitions often come from people trying to explain things before we had microscopes or, you know, Wikipedia. Like sailors avoiding whistling on ships—they thought it summoned storms. But maybe someone just whistled once and a storm happened, so they made the connection.
Lucía: [smiling] So you’re saying I’m just a confused sailor in modern clothes?
Mateo: [grinning] More like a romantic historian. Which is charming. But don’t be surprised if I name my next black cat “Quantum.”
Lucía: [laughs] Ugh, only you would give a cat a science name. But tell me this: if science is so powerful, why hasn’t it explained everything yet?
Mateo: Because the universe is complicated! But science admits what it doesn’t know. Superstition just fills in the blanks with mystery. Which is fine at a carnival, but maybe not for making life decisions.
Lucía: [teasing] Like walking under ladders?
Mateo: Exactly! Or not dating someone because they’re a Scorpio.
Lucía: Don’t start on Scorpios. That’s actual danger.
Mateo: [laughing] I rest my case.
Lucía: Okay, okay. Maybe I’ll give your logic a try. But only if Benito makes it to life number six. If he does, you owe me a new plant. The last one died right after he sneezed on it.
Mateo: Agreed. But if Benito turns out to be immortal, I’m writing a paper and naming a scientific law after him.
Lucía: Deal. Just promise me one thing?
Mateo: What?
Lucía: Don’t ever whistle near my plants. Just in case.
Mateo: [mock solemn] For science… and superstition… I solemnly swear.
[They clink their coffee cups, one guided by reason, the other by ritual—but both bound by years of friendship and a mutual love of churros and cats.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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