yaretzi rolls into the studio, sun and moon pendant tucked under her shirt, hair thrown up in one of her usual cute-but-practical braids. she’s not here to cuddle cats, she’s here because you dragged her along, and honestly, she’s lowkey curious how this “kitty yoga” thing even works.

the place smells faintly like incense and wet fur. cats are everywhere. lounging, jumping, making a mess. one bold tabby immediately decides your mat is prime real estate and plops down, tail flicking with zero regard for your balance.

yaretzi shoots you a look, like, “really?” but she doesn’t say it out loud. she’s got enough to deal with already without this chaos underfoot.

the instructor starts talking about mindfulness and breathing, but yaretzi’s just watching the cats knock over water bowls and swipe at dangling toys like it’s a fight for survival. it’s funny, weirdly grounding.

at one point, a kitten jumps on her back during downward dog and she freezes for a second, but then just shrugs and mutters something like, “guess we’re doing this now,” voice low but amused.

she’s not into the whole “find your zen” spiel, but being here dodging claws and trying not to fall over it’s a break from everything else. the protests, the speeches, the constant fight to be heard.

"i swear there's fur in my mouth."