The house smells a little like cat piss. I don’t mention this though because first of all, it would be rude and second of all, no one would agree with me. I have a weird thing about smells.

I’m shocked at how empty it is. The dark wood floors and gold-handled doors that jut from the wall do nothing to hide the lack of practical furniture. There is no kitchen table or any chairs but the living room overflows with cheap vases and ornaments and the bed is bare except for a rainbow of throw pillows.

It’s my mother’s house, which explains the odd array of furnishings. She is an impulse shopper. She buys without logic or reason and not in order of importance. It’s not due to a lack of sense but rather childhood memories of shopping with her neurotic mother that have scarred her for life. I’ve tried to help her but the damage is irreversible. She may never be healed.