Can't remember if I've ever written about it before, but there is a house in my neighborhood that is the local cat morning hangout. If I run early enough, my path is repeatedly crossed by local felines as they meander over for their morning communal.

I always assumed that the house belonged to a Cat Lady, and I secretly noted its existence as a cautionary tale of what I hope to avoid in my life. In addition to my severe cat allergy, I also refuse to get sucked into that particular stereotype.

Several months ago, I caught my first glimpse of Cat Lady, only to learn that she was actually a he: a barrel chested waddler of a man who was wearing a blue velour-ish sweat suit the first time I caught a glimpse.

This morning? He came out in a baseball cap. And a yellow button-down shirt. And a towel. Yep. Cat Man waddled outside in his towel to get the morning paper and put out breakfast for his four-legged neighborhood friends (one of which was lounging on top of Cat Man's old Cadillac giving himself an early bath).

I has to turn away when Cat Man bent over to pick up the paper, for fear that that towel might break free and I might get my second glance of an elderly gentleman's ass in little more than a week. For those of you who haven't seen it yet, I don't feel like I'm spoiling anything when I tell you that the hospital scene in The Hangover has scarred me for life. No man will ever get to make cellulite jokes in my presence again now that I know just how other-worldly their asses have the potential to become. Close your eyes ladies. Close. Your. Eyes.