My Furry Stress Busters

I was born and raised in Russia and then came to US about 15 years ago. Anyone who made a move like this would agree that it puts you through a dramatic transformation on many levels. You change language, culture, things you do and what you eat. And not all the changes might be as beneficent as you have expected. The exposure to abundance of food, appeal of processed food, and comforts of individual transportation besides their apparent blessings brought questions and concerns. Since then I am on a permanent journey in search of a healthy life style that could be reasonable and joyful for my family and me.

As time goes by, I have learned something that helped me or mine and made a few observations that I would like to share. I have no intentions to give cook-book advices simply because I do not believe that the same thing works for everyone and every time. But how cool it could be to receive a feedback and maybe learn more!


It is a well known fact that pets in nursing homes and hospitals prolong lives and promote faster healing. Keeping this in mind, I decided to start this blog with a story that puts a smile on my face just as I am typing these words – about my two furry stress busters - my cats.


When my husband heard about the idea he said “Yes, go for it! I wish we had adopted them sooner – how many more happy hours and serotonin surges we missed!” So, here it is:


Our cats are Masia and Max, both black and furry but in a different way.

Masia sleeps at my side of the bed, almost every night and almost the whole night. When I hug her she tucks her forehead into the palm of my hand, her paws – around my wrist, and she purrs. It feels like therapy. Whatever cortisol or other bad stuff I have accumulated through the day, she diligently dissolves at night.

In other aspects she is my husband’s cat. When all three of our daughters, one after another, left us to start on their own, my husband announced that he wanted to adopt a cat. I was not enthusiastic about cleaning litter and fur all over the house. I also was concerned that it would be difficult for us to travel, leaving cat alone. But my husband was determined and eventually we went to the pet store.

Specialists recommend adopting a happy, sociable animal, with which you can easily establish a bond. My husband picked up a tiny black kitten that was shivering and tried to hide in the far corner of the cage. There she was stepped on and over by her 2 light and jolly brothers. Her behavior indicated exactly a cat not suitable for adoption. We had no competition.

Later my husband explained his counter-professional choice this way: “She was scared of everyone and nobody wanted her, so, I thought, she would love only me”. And eventually she did, but not right away.


In adoption papers there was a question “do you plan to let the cat outside”. I checked the “Yes” box, thinking it would be a good idea in our green and peaceful neighborhood. The shelter lady was very unhappy with this answer. “If you intend to do this, we will not give you the kitten”, she said and handed us a printout with long list of outdoor threats for cats. We said “OK”, and sincerely promised to never let her out.


We brought her home and opened the carrier in the middle of the kitchen. It was a mistake.

She ran for hide and first tried to do it behind the long lagged flower stand, then – in the coat closet. There she stayed for quite a while, then started whining drearily. We took her to the bedroom to show her a cozy cradle we had bought for her, but she did not like its smell and rushed under the bed. We placed all sorts of tempting things beside bed skirt: cat food, milk, litter box, but she was not interested. In the middle of the night she started crying again. We threw ourselves on the carpet at both sides of the bed, looking under it and trying to spot a little black knobble in the dark. We asked her in English and in Russian to come out. We promised to love her very much and that she would be all right. She was not convinced.

The very first thing she came out for was a bow made of paper towel on a blue shoe string. My husband spent hours near the bed encouraging her to show up. First, out came her paws, next - curious little face; then she dared to rush out and back and finally chased the bow in ecstasy. This bow, disheveled and dirty became her beloved toy, her guide around the house. Later she would come into our bedroom in the middle of the night with this blue shoestring in mouth, dragging the bow along, screaming “R-r-a-a-h, r-r-a-a-h!” that we interpreted as “let’s play” (“igrat” in Russian).

She became our darling, endlessly photographed by my husband, fed all-natural food, spoiled in every imaginable way. My daughter would have been shocked to know that Masia was allowed to freely walk on dinner table and countertops. She remembers me being a pretty strict mother in her childhood.

But all these excesses were not known outside our household. Besides me and my husband Masia trusted no one. As soon as she heard a stranger on the porch, she rushed to hide.


And then, in the middle of summer she disappeared. We were devastated but then things started happening in a totally unexpected way.