As soon as she stepped in the door she could smell the familiar melange of odors: dog urine, cat litter boxes filled to capacity, other less specific animal odors. Furry bodies and their excretions seemed to rule the place. She stepped onto a small rug she had not noticed before in the slate entryway-- lovely muted pinks and greens in bands, a thick pile, all somewhat obscured by a cararact-like film of pet hair. Beautiful things were often being added to the crowded home, where they took their chances with the animals' abuse and the humans' neglect.

She sat down on the antique settee, upholstered in green velvet, whose corners had been chewed away here and there. In one certain spot on the couch, the odor of dog urine was terribly pungent. She looked behind the couch and saw no fresh puddle on the tile floor, no telltale sticky dried crystalline patch either. She scooted over slightly, moving out of range of the mysterious odor source. From her spot there in the sunny southern-facing window, she could survey the largest and most spacious room in the house-- it had very high ceilings, with stained blue carpeted stairs leading up to a second level gallery of overflowing bookshelves. The dominant piece in the room was a Steinway grand piano, with a dark brown wood finish, not shiny and lacquered with black like you often see. On top of the piano a Kwan Yin statue with a similar brown color and texture towered over a collection of miscellaneous items: framed family photos, a ceramic bunny figurine, a half-eaten box of See's candy, a pillar candle that leaned like the tower of Pisa-- perhaps it was melted somehow.

The coffee table in front of her, a delicate antique in blonde wood tones, was loaded down with magazines about Craftsman style architecture and decor, sheet music for piano, cello, violin, some new cello strings in their little paper packets, and a yellow plastic radio that ran on either solar power or a hand crank. On the table and the pink upholstered wing chairs were little plastic devices that occasionally emitted beeping sounds. They were designed to discourage pets from jumping up on the furniture, and had motion-detecting alarms that screamed quite loudly when jostled. One chair's back was piled high with folded pants, most likely destined for the Goodwill. Behind that chair stood a stack of cardboard boxes maybe five or six feet high. They were probably empty. Closer to the piano she noticed a cat climbing tower with severely frayed carpet-covered scratching posts and hair-filled tunnels, and a little mouse with jingle bells on a wire projecting out from one side. In the opposite corner, some plants were dying or already dead.

She could see through the pantry area and into part of the kitchen, where she knew the old bread and cookie packages, tea boxes and pill bottles were piled up on the counter, leaving just a few inches of workable counter space. And the fridge and pantry were sure to be as full as ever with outdated products, only a few edible ones in the layer closest to the surface. The dogs, little dachsunds like four-legged dustbusters, snuffled around, keeping the floors clean by eating anything that dropped, or even anything excreted by another of the animals.

She thought of retreating to the guest room, the only room that was theoretically off-limits to the animals, and which had been cleared out in anticipation of their arrival (it often housed the economy-sized dog and cat food bags and other paraphernalia). But the room was also the darkest and coldest room, facing north, with heavy drapes. Instead, she took a seat in the smaller, cozier family room, next to a huge pile of catalogs. She noticed the many floating hairs and specks visible in the sunbeam coming through the window. She saw the cluttered coffee table, the carpet that she knew was only a few years old but was already irreparably worn and stained, the basket of garlic and lemons in various stages of decay hanging closer to the kitchen. She looked down at herself and made a mental note not to wear black velvet to her mother's house again, then took a dachsund onto her lap and lost herself in the strange world of catalog browsing.
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