Dark room. Water heater rumbles. Cats crawl over his hands.

Sleeping on an old couch, worn in over time, foam coming through holes. His head sweats. Brown locks of hair soaking wet. He is naked. 

Newspapers on the tile floor covering cat vomit. Hairballs and too much water. The litter box is overfilled. Orange and black cats asleep on his belly. Claw marks on his chest next to a tattoo of a Polynesian girl outlined in green. His toenails are long and yellow.

A half empty bottle of vodka sits beside the couch. The lid is off. There’s a receipt on the coffee table. Eggs, $4.29. Bologna, $3.50. Honey Wheat bread, $0.99. Skol Vodka, $8.99. A chewed piece of gum is wadded up in a silver wrapper. The cats meow.

What do you want? he asks. Are you hungry? The cats circle his bare feet. He opens a can of tuna and dumps it in a metal bowl. There you go, he tells them. Both wait their turn to eat. No fighting.

He scratches himself and looks at his naked body in the mirror. So this is what it’s come to. He laughs. And goes back to sleep.