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All my life growing up our family pets had always been cats. The first two cats we'd had when I was very small had run away, one shortly followed by the other. That's what my parents told me anyway.

I know if something would have happened to them, my parents wouldn't have told me. Much better to believe they have run off to live with someone else. "That's what cats are like" they told me. "You get to have them and love them for a while, then they find a new home and new owner who spoils them more than we do".

I remember the day we got fluffy, a little black ball of fur. He was half Persian and the most beautiful kitten I'd ever seen. My sisters and I would argue over who got to have fluffy on our knee. Who got to hold him and stroke him. He was so loving and gentle the perfect cat to have around children.

We'd had fluffy a few years when I started having allergic reactions. My face would swell up, my eyes would itch intensely, and my nose would, run I couldn't stop sneezing. It didn't take long to realise I'd developed an allergy to the cat.

The doctor told me I wasn't allowed to hold the cat anymore, or even to stroke him. It was awful, I'd watch as my sisters fussed over him, jealously welling up inside. Then he'd come over to me rubbing against my legs and I couldn't resist. I'd pick him up and cuddle him quickly then put him back down, as usual my face would swell and I'd look like the elephant man.

My parents had to give fluffy away, we were all devastated we loved him so much.

After that I tried to stay away from cats. They seemed to sense my allergy and even the most hardened cat would slink over to me, tempting me to give them a cuddle, being so cute and adorable that I just couldn't resist.

I started to hate cats, and the misery of the allergic reaction I'd get from them. It felt like they knew I was allergic and only wanted me to stroke them because I'd end up miserable.

I decided that cats were cruel hard and mean, all of which was wrapped up in a deceptive furry bundle of cuteness.

Whenever I saw a cat I turned my back on it, or shooed it away.

At 21 I lived alone on a quiet residential street, one day there was a knock at my door. A young girl was stood there holding a kitten in her jacket. She had to find homes for her cats' kittens; she was struggling to find a home for the last one.

As hardened as I was to cats, my heart melted. I took the kitten in. She was so scared by her new environment. I did my best to make her happy and comfortable.

Despite my streaming nose and itchy eyes, my love for the cat grew. Within a few months my allergic reaction had dulled to slight sneezing. My doctor informed me I must have built up a tolerance to my cat. I'd still be just as allergic to other cats, but it wouldn't be as bad with my own.

I was so happy, my cat was my baby now and I loved her and spoilt her rotten. All my family knew me as the crazy cat lady. I worried about her and fussed over like any parent would over a child.

I'm absolutely a cat lover now, but when it comes to other cats I still have to keep a watchful eye over them, lest they tempt me to a cuddle, and I break out like the elephant man.

Learn more about this author, Vicky Smee.
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