I am allergic to cats. It would not be far off to say that I am deathly allergic to cats.
When I am anywhere near cat related objects*, I get a strange feeling that someone has rubbed poison ivy ridden wool on the inside of my throat and the back of my eyes. A wave of fatigue hits me like a George Foreman uppercut in 1973. Sometimes, at first, I can avoid the temptation to scratch, but the will power never lasts, so I give in, I rub my eyes with reckless abandon. I then begin to cry emotionless tears, all the while wishing I could swallow a back scratcher or the rough end of a velcroe strip to soothe my itching throat. Then comes the sneezing. On average I will sneeze seven times in a row, and this will happen 10-15 times. All this together equals misery, sheer misery.
For every 20 seconds I spend interacting with any feline,** I in turn spend 1 minute in misery. This simple 1:3 ratio has ruined my life. If I am at a cat owner's house house for just 1 hour, my afternoon is ruined.
I have come to the conclusion, strangely enough, that I do not hate cats, cat owners, or pet stores that sell cats. I only hate the misery that they produce.
*Includes but is not limited to: cats, cat hair, cat dander, homes that house cats, people who like cats, Cat Stevens, Michelle Pfeiffer.
**I say any feline because I am assuming that I am also allergic to lions, tigers, panthers, and ocelots.