Cats and yoga mats

She sleeps in the corner, her tail wrapped around her body, her head nestled into her front paws. Her whiskers quiver and her back legs twitch at dreams of far-off fields, teaming with light brown wheat and an abundance of rats. 

It is the time of day that I stretch my muscles, taunt from too much sitting and I will push through a series of sun salutations with a personal vow to add one more than the day before. 

I remove the yoga mat from the closest, its squishiness sinking beneath my fingers.  Often it smells like last night’s dinner. Perhaps I should move it out of the pantry and into an actual closet. 

I place it on the floor, quiet, and with deliberation I roll the mat out. 

Instantly, the cat springs to life, dreams of rats forgotten, and she sprints to the yoga mat and plops in the middle of it. 

Just like the day before and the day before that. 

She settles on the matt, unwilling to budge. I can move her, but she gets right back on it.

Cats and yoga mats.