My cousin Lula divided her time between Sharon's apartment and a blanket in a bureau cabinet that used to contain sweaters. Lula kept close surveillance on her sister, Stubby, at the windowsill, in case a pigeon tried to fly into Stubby's mouth -- or to catch Stubby conspiring with the rhubarb, robin feathers, salmon, and yogurt flowers that peeked from cracks in the pavement below. Her favorite television show was anything by Lama Yeshe, and her favorite CD was Lama Zopa reciting the "Sutra for Entering the City of Vaishali." She taught Stubby how to guard their bowls on the kitchen floor so that Condoleezza Rice wouldn't steal their food or water. She fought the unseemly unrolling of the yoga mat and the jumpy frenzy of Sun Salutations. But Savasana is noiseless and benign -- they close their eyes and no one can pick you up or look at you -- and she always sat sideways in corpse-pose next to Sharon, purring and petted. May Lula have happiness and the causes of happiness, and be free from suffering and the causes of suffering.