the estimate

she had five cats.
four dogs,
a bird.
a husband
who was almost gone,
all rescued from somewhere.
each with their
own
set of problems,
health, age,
emotional disorders, or
none.
they barked, they
purred,
they squawked as I moved
room to room.
the husband,
waved
with one hand,
the other on his remote.
the smell burned my eyes
as I made my
way through the array of obstacles,
and animals
that were underfoot,
clawing at my legs.
I stared at the peeling
wallpaper,
the crackling paint,
the gaps
between wood and wood.
the circles of water stains.
brown halos
on the ceilings.
the pads
the blankets, the dishes
and bowls
upon the floor.
cat boxes full of sand.
I wondered how in the hell
it got this way.
would fresh paint even matter
at this point?