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Everyone knows the stereotype of the Creepy Old Cat Lady – the one that lives down the street whose husband died decades ago, or was just never married/involved/whatever, and started conversing more with her one cat than people, and next thing you know, she’s staring down the barrel of retirement with only two dozen felines to keep her company.

The girls I’ve been going out with lately are no where near old (between 23 and 37), nor have they been creepy, but I assume at one point in Creepy Old Cat Lady’s past, she was also a nubile young woman with only one or two pets, some fulfilling career and/or hobbies, and hopefully a couple of suitors. Where’s the inflection point? Where does it go from loved familiar to menagerie? Desk photos from boy/girl-friends and parents to a litter of longhairs? When does reciprocal conversation get replaced with baby-talk and purrs?

Why do I even care?

Because every girl I’ve gone out with lately have one thing in common: A cat. Every. Single. One. Not 80 or 90 percent, no, a solid 100 percent. Perfect. Impeccable. Faultless.

I’m allergic to cats.

Not in that “oh, my nose is sniffly, can we get the cat off the bed?” sort of way. I mean, I’ve been to the emergency room, twice, because my throat has swollen shut preventing me from breathing. Any idea what it’s like to wake up in the middle of the night because your brain is starving for air? Uncomfortable, to say the least. And when you’re slamming on your roommate’s door to wake him up and take him to ER, you notice that your balance isn’t quite what it used to be, and it takes extraordinary effort form even short sentences. When I’d stay at my ex-girlfriend’s in Oakland, sometimes I’d have to walk around the block a few times to get fresh air in my lungs and allow my throat to re-open. Yeah, that’s right, a lone white guy wandering around the block in Oakland at 2am in slippers and a robe. It’s that bad.

But you just have to deal with it. When I’ve said in the past, at that delicate point where a series of dates threatens to pivot to a fledgling relationship, “look, you know how I’m deathly allergic to cats, so, ah, it’s kinda either me or tabby, or we never stay at your house,” I’ve received nothing short of caustic stares of disbelief and angry protestations. “I’ve had him longer than I’ve know you!” “Deal with it!” “You’re a man aren’t you? Sack up!”

Because, when it comes down to it, the cat is still more important than I am. But I don’t get to be the more important part until I’ve demonstrated my love and proven my worthiness – at which I’ve been living with a cuddle-bug of a dander-factory constricting the enjoyment out of my life faster than the latest Police Academy offering. So you just have to grin and bear it.

I wonder if, when these short relationships end, am I contributing to the probability that she becomes Creepy Old Cat Lady, am I reinforcing some sort of “Tabby doesn’t give me ultimatums, Tabby is better than men” sort of mentality. It’s some sort of immature visualization of a grand scale, a writhing mass of cats on the right and a series of allergic ex-boyfriends on the left: too many allergic boys, and she’s gotta hang out with the kitties to keep everything on an even keel.

And what’s the analogous stereotype for men? Creepy Old Drunk Bar Guy? Creepy Bizarre Hobby Collector Guy? Creepy Agoraphobic Internet Guy?

Where’s my scale?

I own a condo and I want to travel. I want to travel for many months. I no longer want to own a condo. So, come summer, the condo’s going on the market. Because of this, quick trips to the kitchen or bathroom are now viewed as Tours of Accumulated Crap. Where the hell am I going to put all this while I traipse around the world for six months living out of a backpack? I mean, damn, I’ve got a lot of crap. What to do with it? Send me ideas. This is what I’ve got so far:

• Donations: Goodwill should be seeing a full truckload a in the near future. Perhaps cut the (now) largely-unworn black T-shirt collection from 70 down to 10, and toss out various old jeans and shorts that are now either too large or too small for me. (Yes, it’s been long enough that I have clothes on both ends of the poorly-sized spectrum.)
• Sales: I’ve decided I’m going to sell my stereo (gasp!) – yes, the high-end audiophilic masturbatory device I so treasure. I’m just not home enough anymore, and once I’m out of the country, I’ll be listening to it even less.
• Giveaways: I’ll be bringing boxes of various old computer bits and pieces to the local 2600 meeting for the taking after I see if I can cobble together a working machine to donate to the local elementary.
• Bonfire!: Who needs huge books dedicated to the administration of decade old versions of sendmail? Not me. I’ve got tons of outdated information security and administration manuals – even a 1991 copy of “Practical Unix Security,” before they changed the name of the next edition to “Practical Unix and Internet Security.” Sendmail’s more useful as as a fire starter anyway. Potential 2600 material here as well….
• Storage: I’m not really down with selling my 150 year old antique Chinese credenza, nor the coffee table, end-tables, wall-hangings, and CDs. (I want to keep the CDs around as backup in case my iPod dies.) There’ll also be a good number of books I can’t bear to part with. Anyone have tips on good cheap long-term storage companies? How are those ones that drop off/pick up at your house?
• Friends: Anybody want to borrow something of mine for a year? Perhaps my outdoor table and chairs, or some of my power tools? You just have to return them in comparable condition.
• ???: What do you do with crappy but usable kitchen gear? I’ve a bunch of pots and pans and whatnot that are probably near the end of their usable lifespans – is donation acceptable? Something else?

Of course, the travels are still at least a year off, and I’ve got to sell the house and work out all sorts of logistics first, so I’ve got time. But just the though of moving is providing me for the emphasis on this winter-cleaning, and I thoroughly believe in some significant change at lease once to years to spurn a minimization process. Much more effective than an empty “spring cleaning,” which typically just becomes not-quite-completed chore.