Being different from the crowd  is sometimes a great thing. You can call yourself 'unique' and 'special' when you know the word should be 'weird' and feel happy reading books which tell you to celebrate who you are. At other times, however, it isn't such a great thing. Take for example the following Walking out of a concert full of lively people to have tea in the company of a stranger with spiked hair and kohled eyes; falling asleep at the dentist's during a root-canal procedure; failing to comprehend the sine and tangent after years of studying maths, etc.

A few years ago, I discovered another thing about myself that could be added to the list. I realised that I was terribly repelled by cats. And this isn't the usual repulsion felt by thousands of people who would ideally not be surrounded by cats but if they have to be, would just let them be and move on with life. It's a phobia proven by science which terrorises me despite my struggle to accept the beings as part of the environment.

Apparently a very normal-looking person, I am forced by inexplicable impulses to behave absurdly should a cat/s enter the same vicinity as me. I act as if possessed, tripping and falling over things while making unsuccessful attempts at avoiding physical contact with the cat. As if life wasn't complicated enough, this paranoia has resulted in me making a clown of myself on various occasions.

Once, a girl I had recently befriended invited me to her birthday. The party was very cosy with a few close friends. All was going well before my host decided that we leave the lounge and make ourselves comfortable in her room. As I walked inside, two big white cats emerged from under the bed and began parading around. To my absolute horror they started to wrap their tails around me, dodge me and chase me. I still had not gotten over the fact that there were huge fur-balls running after me. Amidst the chaos, I lost track of the conversation, dropped my bag and shawl and ran blindly about the unfamiliar corridors of the house. Yes, in five-inch pencil heels with everyone shouting “They're not lions!” Thanks to brilliant female memory, the guests of that party still talk about it. I never visited her again.

Attending weddings and other outdoor gatherings proves to be quite nerve-wracking for me. The reason for this goes back to a long ago December wedding to which I made the mistake of wearing a ghagra. Besides irritating my skin to the extent that it turned red, the ghagra played the role of a small tent for stray cats to walk in at their leisure. During dinner I felt as if a fluffy bush had brushed past my legs, scratching my sandaled feet in the process and doing other cat-acrobatics.

Within a minute, I was standing up on the chair holding my plate thinking I was close to a cardiac arrest. To add to the misery, my efforts to impress random-wedding-guests with my charm and beautiful ghagra went down the drain after this performance fit for a circus.

Since surviving in huge spaces with cats around is such a task, imagine what I go through when it comes to visiting relatives' houses that have pet cats. People who keep pets expect all human beings to adore their pet as much as they do and if anyone fails to offer the required affection, they're just being cruel.

“What about animal rights?” they ask, or “Don't you see how gorgeous Kitty/Tammy/Kookie is?” I explain that I am all for animal rights and have nothing against them. Growing up in a pet-free household, I became accustomed to a lifestyle which did not have pet cats strolling about on the carpet or joining the family for tea. However, my Mamu who has six cats in his flat understands my pain. On a recent visit to his residence, he persuaded everybody to sit in the drawing room which would be a completely human-zone, he promised.

Despite this kindly act, one of the six made its way inside the room, explored my bag and imported ballet shoes and took its time as it slipped inside them to see if they fit him or not. There was a lot of sniffling and playing before it finally got bored. I was desperate to move out of this lion-king setting. My family found this very amusing while a numbed me sat up on the sofa feeling helpless.

 People often try to help by saying “It's just a cat! Look how tiny and harmless it is!” I'd like to point out that not all cats are tiny and most definitely lie outside the 'harmless' category. My father suggests therapy, think I need it.