Jangled by the week, I made my way home, and composed myself as I moved through the door. I was able to set down the burden I was carrying before stepping into her line of sight. I stood, vibrating just slightly in place, as she told the well-presented tale of the most disturbing thing about her day. I murmured words apposite and waited for the end, silently hefted my own bag of stuff once again, and fled the scene.

The burden's weight unbalanced me on the stair, but I contend with it all day long and know how to negotiate in its company and remain untoppled. I left it behind me as I walked to the place I call mine, and stood within it for a moment, quivering gently. I thought it best to handle my chores before abandoning myself to its indolence completely.

Scoopable litter, scoopably used; I made the necessary divots, did the other rituals of disposal. Added a bit more litter, shook the box to even it out as my cat prefers. "Even" means more on the end where she wants it, and that doesn't surprise me at all.

I found myself raking the white grains back and forth with the scoop, taking pains to create the symmetry I desired, moving rhythmically. My field of vision narrowed just to what I was doing, and my thoughts settled as each swipe brought me closer to perfection. I don't know how long I worked at it, but when I set my tool aside, my hands shook not at all. The peace of having created some small order suffused me.

How meditative; how relaxing.

I can't believe nobody ever thought of that kind of thing before.