The crazy cat lady

I wonder how often cleaning out a house to ready it for sale leads to divorce? J has, what I call, a schnibble pile. Every receipt, playbill, important paper, or ad that makes it into his hands ends up in his schnibble pile. The schnibble pile goes back years and sits on a table in our basement. Like looking at the rings of a tree to determine when a fire occurred, he can often find something in the schnibble pile by going backward through it. It is stacked, roughly, by date. Much to my dismay (and after harping on him about it for years), the dismantling of the schnibble pile is going to fall to me. Oh, how I wish it only contained playbills and grocery receipts. But it doesn't. Somewhere in the schnibble pile are important receipts and documents for things like our house refinance. A few days ago, I told him that I didn't think we'd ever get the house on the market because I'm not sure I can deal with the schnibble pile. I picture myself old and gray, sleeping in a pile of paper, surrounded by my cats.