In the living room, I am following a yoga “video” that has no images. As the half hour winds down and the voice on the recording leads me into a meditation, the dishwasher swings into high gear with its swooshing of water and soap and the grinding of its gears. Relaxing on my left side, I face the hall bathroom, and the odor of cat urine from a litter box needing cleaning wafts through my breathing space. A cat plops down next to my head to do his own sort of yoga, one leg in the air, face buried in his groin to clean. Namaste.