Today at the most Middlemarchian yoga on earth, I came out of cat pose and into cow pose to find a little wet nose touching mine. I opened my eyes in surprise to find an equally surprised furry face a centimeter away. What were we doing, the cat wondered, and when would we realize that the only true yogic practice is sitting back on your tail with one leg raised straight in the air and the other stretched perpendicular to it along the floor (a pose known in feline circles as "Playing the cello"). If you want to add an extra challenge here, try licking your own belly.

Post-yoga conversation today featured questions of how to quell a vengeful spirit when your neighbor comes onto your land and cuts your trees in half (or, in one case, tells your own woodsman to cut down your trees, because, need I remind you, Prospect Bay does not exist wholeheartedly in the modern moment), and then, confronted by the illegality of this act, says first, "But you realize it was blocking my view?" and then, aggressively, "If they die, I don't want to have to look at ugly holes in the ground."

Namaste.