Цiкаво
10 причин від фахівців, щоб завести собі котика
На днях багато любителів пухнастих “вусолапохвостів” святкували міжнародний день котів, а сьогодні ми вирішили опублікувати добірку цікавих наукових фактів про ці неймовірні створіння. Ми впевнені, що після прочитання цієї статті Ви дізнаєтесь багато нового про наших чотирилапих друзів й навіть, ті з Вас, хто ще не має кота чи кішки вдома, як мінімум задумається про те, щоб виправити цю помилку!
Aroundpet.ru
1. Серце скаже вам спасибі
Кішка, яка зустрічає вас вдома і муркоче на колінах вечорами, – відмінний спосіб знизити рівень щоденного стресу. А де менше стресу, там менше навантаження на серце і судини.
Загалом, не дивно, що ризик смерті від серцево-судинних захворювань у власників цих хвостатих істотно нижче, ніж у тих, хто не додумався завести кота.
Так, вчені досить категоричні: придбання буркітливого звіра вони називають прекрасним стратегічним рішенням для тих, хто турбується про здоров’я серця.
2. М’язи і кістки стануть міцнішими
Ні-ні, для цього зовсім не доведеться носити розгодованого Василя (або Мурку) на руках. Міцні м’язи й кістки додаються до кожного кота, навіть найхудішого і малого. Від вас вимагається лише регулярно гладити звіра, щоб він муркотів.
Муркотіння – це звуки на частоті 20-140 Гц. Дослідження доводять, що частоти в діапазоні 18-35 Гц покращують рухливість суглобів і м’язів після травм, а також здатні загоювати мікротравми й запобігати м’язовій атрофії.
Це називається біомеханічною стимуляційною терапією.
Взяли кошеня – вважайте, придбали прилад для ефективної фізіотерапії. А ще він, «прилад», вам радіє.
3. Якщо ви чоловік, у вас буде більше прихильниць
Факт: жінок приваблюють чоловіки, які мають домашніх тварин. Понад 90% одиноких панночок щиро вважають, що такі кавалери дбайливіші і цікавіші, а тому охоче погоджуються на побачення.
Gazeta.ru
4. Ви прокачаєте навички спілкування
Дослідники з Міссурійського університету виявили, що діти, які страждають аутизмом, набували навичок соціальних взаємодій краще, якщо у них було яке-небудь домашню тварину, кішка в тому числі.
По суті, коти пробуджують інтерес до навколишніх людей і покращують здібності до спілкування. Хороший план не тільки для малюків-аутистів, а й для всіх, хто страждає від власних замкнутості і соромливості.
5. Знизиться ризик підхопити інфекцію
Вусатий-смугастий домашній вихованець допомагає зміцнити імунну систему немовлят. Зокрема, ефективно налаштувати її на захист від респіраторних захворювань. Також кішка в будинку здатна знизити ризик виникнення гастроентериту у дітей.
6. Алергії не буде
Якщо у вас немає алергії на кішок, вихованець допоможе більш успішно протистояти іншим подразників. Цей зв’язок доведений. Принаймні, на прикладі дітей. Чим активніше і частіше дитина контактує з мурчиками, тим менше ймовірність, що у нього буде алергія або астма.
Freepik.com
7. Психічне здоров’я покращиться
Кілька років тому авторитетна британська компанія Cats Protection опитала понад 600 осіб, серед яких були як власники кішок, так і люди, які не мають домашніх тварин взагалі. Частина опитаних страждала всілякими психічними розладами.
Вчені проаналізували відповіді і прийшли до висновку: 87% з тих, у кого були кішки, стверджували, що вусатий-смугастий вихованець цілюще впливає на їх психологічне самопочуття. А 76% ще додали, що кішка допомагає їм краще справлятися з повсякденними стресами.
8. Ви не будете страждати від самотності
Протягом життя кожен з нас переживає періоди самотності й соціального відторгнення. Вони можуть бути пов’язані, наприклад, з переїздом в незнайоме місто або країну, втратою коханих і друзів. Що виникає при цьому почуття самотності часом настільки велике, що хочеться опустити руки.
Домашній вихованець – істота, яка змушує господаря організовувати своє життя: піклуватися, годувати, вчасно чистити лоток. А в результаті людина відчуває власну потрібність і продовжує жити далі, незважаючи ні на що.
9. Ви порозумнішаєте
Зв’язок тут непрямий, але він все-таки є. Дослідження підтверджують, що власники кішок в середньому мають більш високий коефіцієнт інтелекту, ніж господарі собак. Крім того, вони більш незалежні, врівноважені та володіють глибоким внутрішнім світом.
10. І будете краще спати
Опитування серед пацієнтів, які страждають розладами сну, дають цікавий результат: якщо домашній вихованець – та ж кішка – знаходиться в спальні або навіть у ліжку, сон стає більш спокійним, глибоким і умиротвореним. На це вказують понад 40% опитаних.
Як вважає фахівець зі сну з Клініки Мейо Лоїс Кран (Lois Krahn), кішка схожа на ефективне і абсолютно нешкідливе заспокійливе, яке можна прописати практично всім.
Джерело: https://polonsil.ru/blog/43612242517/10-nauchno-obosnovannyih-prichin-zavesti-kota?
Ну що дочитали статтю до кінця? Вирішили завести собі пухнастого улюбленця? Або може вже маєте такого\таку вдома? Напишіть, будь ласка, свої думки та враження нам у коментарях!
The Key in His Hand Rain drummed against the window of the flat with the bleak consistency of a metronome, each beat ticking out the time left. Michael sat hunched on the edge of his sagging bed, as if by shrinking he could disappear altogether from the notice of fate. His large hands—once strong, shaped by years on the factory floor—now lay powerless in his lap. His fingers curled and uncurled in vain, desperate for something solid to hold on to. He wasn’t looking at the wall; he was seeing a map traced on the faded wallpaper—a map of hopeless journeys: trips from the NHS surgery to the private diagnostic clinic. His gaze, like an old film stuck on a single frame, was dulled and washed out. Another doctor, another kind but weary “Well, you have to understand—you’re not as young as you once were.” He couldn’t muster any anger. Anger took energy, and he had none left. Only fatigue remained. The pain in his back had become more than a symptom—it was the backdrop to every thought and action, a white noise of helplessness drowning everything else out. He did everything he was told: swallowed pills, slathered on gels, lay on the chilly table in the physio clinic, feeling like discarded machinery on the scrapheap. And all that time—he waited. Passive, almost devout, for the lifeline he hoped someone—perhaps the government, or a brilliant doctor, or clever professor—would throw out to him as he sank slowly into the muck. He stared into the horizon of his life and saw only rain-soaked greyness beyond the glass. His own will, once so sharp and practical on the job and at home, was reduced to a single function: to endure and hope for a miracle from somewhere else. Family… There had been family, but it had slipped away, vanishing quickly and with a strange clarity. His daughter Katie was first to go—clever Katie, off to London in search of something more. He’d never begrudged her ambition; if anything, he’d encouraged her to chase it. “Dad, I’ll help you as soon as I’m settled,” she’d said over the phone. He’d known even then that it wasn’t important. Then his wife left—Raia. Not to the shops, but forever. Cancer took her so fast. It was as if her absence magnified the weight in his spine, leaving him, halfway between the chair and the bed, still breathing, but blaming himself for it. She, the wellspring of his strength, faded in three months. He’d nursed her until the end, until her cough turned desperate and her eyes dulled to a distant shine. Her last words, gripping his hand in the hospital: “Hang on, Mike…” He wasn’t able to. He broke. Katie called, begged him to stay with her in her tiny rented flat, but what use was he to her there? In a stranger’s home, a burden. She wouldn’t be coming back. Now only Raia’s younger sister, Val, visited, once a week by the clock—bringing soup in Tupperware, pasta with a lukewarm cutlet and a fresh pack of painkillers. “How are you, Mike?” Val would ask, peeling off her coat. He’d nod, “Alright.” They’d sit in silence, her bustling around, tidying his little room, as if the order of things could somehow restore the order of his life. Eventually, she’d leave behind the scent of another woman’s perfume, and the soft, near-tangible weight of a duty performed. He was grateful. Yet also, crushingly alone. It wasn’t just physical loneliness—it was a prison built from helplessness, grief, and a subdued rage at unfairness. One melancholy night, his wandering gaze fell on a key lying on the tattered rug. He must have dropped it the last time he shuffled in from the surgery. Just a key. Nothing special. A bit of metal. He stared at it as though seeing it for the first time. He remembered his grandfather—brightly, as if someone had turned on a light in a dark corner of memory. Grandad Peter—one sleeve empty and pinned—would sit on the stool and tie his laces with a lone hand and a broken fork. Patient, focused, quirkily triumphant when he managed it. “Look, Mikey,” Grandad would say with a gleam of victory in his eye, “A tool is always close by. Sometimes a tool looks like junk. The trick is spotting the friend in the rubbish.” As a boy, Michael had thought this was just old man talk—a comforting fable. Grandad was a hero, and heroes could always manage. Michael, he decided, was ordinary; his battles with pain and loneliness weren’t fit for brave stories. But now, staring at the key, the old scene rang not like consolation, but as a quiet rebuke. His grandfather never waited for help. He used what he had—a bent fork—and beat back helplessness itself. So what had Michael chosen? Only waiting, bitter and passive, sitting by the door of someone else’s charity. The thought jarred him. Suddenly, the key—the chunk of metal, echoing his grandad’s words—became a silent command. Michael stood, groaning as his body objected, almost shame-faced in the empty flat. He took two shuffling steps, picked up the key. His attempt to straighten was met with the familiar knife of pain. He froze, waiting for it to pass, but this time, instead of collapsing back onto the bed, he pressed on. Moving slowly, he went to the wall. He turned his back to it, pressed the blunt bit of the key to the wallpaper right where the pain sat, and gently, gingerly leant in, applying pressure. There was no plan to ‘massage’ or ‘treat’—just the act of pushing back. Pressure against pain, reality against reality. He found a spot where, miraculously, this struggle brought not agony, but the slightest, dull relief—something inside relented, softened a fraction. He moved the key, tried again, higher then lower, with the same careful experiment. Each movement was slow, full of listening to his own body. It wasn’t treatment—it was negotiation. The key, not some medical gadget, was his tool. It seemed foolish. A key was no miracle. But the next evening, when pain returned, he tried again. And again. He discovered places where pressure brought not more pain, but relief—a sense of opening a vice by fractions. He began leaning against the doorframe to stretch. Drank a glass of water when the empty cup reminded him—something free, at least. Michael had stopped waiting, hands idle. He started using whatever was at hand: the key, the doorframe, the floor for simple stretches, his own resolve. He kept a notebook—not a pain diary, but a list of ‘key victories’: “Today managed five minutes by the cooker.” On the sill, he placed three old baked bean tins—planned for the bin. He filled them with earth from the front garden and planted a few onion bulbs. Not a vegetable plot, but a tiny patch of life that he was now responsible for. A month passed. At the next appointment, the doctor’s eyebrows went up at what he saw in the new scans. “There’s some improvement. Have you been doing the exercises?” “Yes,” Michael said. “I’ve been using what I’ve got.” He didn’t mention the key—the doctor wouldn’t have understood. But Michael knew. Salvation hadn’t come by ship. It had simply lain on the floor, ignored while he watched the wall, waiting for someone else to turn on the light. One Wednesday, when Val appeared with soup, she stopped in the doorway. On the windowsill, in those tin cans, green shoots of spring onion pointed skywards. The room no longer reeked of medicine and defeat, but of something almost hopeful. “You… what’s this?” she managed, seeing him standing confidently at the window. “Kitchen garden,” he replied. After a moment, he added, “Want some for your soup? Home-grown, fresh.” That evening, she stayed longer than usual. Over tea, without discussing his aches and pains, he told her about the stairs—the single extra flight he now climbed each day. His rescue didn’t come from Doctor Dolittle with a magic potion. It had hidden itself as a key, a doorframe, an empty can, and a concrete staircase. It hadn’t removed pain, loss, or age. But it put tools in his hands—not to win a war all at once, but to fight his small daily battles. And it turns out, if you stop waiting for a golden ladder from heaven and see the plain, concrete one at your feet, you might find the climb itself is already a life. Slowly, carefully, step by step—but always upward. And on the windowsill, in those three battered cans, grew the finest green onions in the world.
The rain was tapping against the flat window, steady as a grandfather clock, counting down the hours to something you...
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“We Sold You the House—But We Have the Right to Stay for a Week,” the Owners Claimed. In 1975, We Moved from the Countryside to the Edge of Town, Bought a House, and Got Quite a Shock… Back in the village, neighbours always lent a helping hand—my parents were no different. So, when the previous owners of our new home asked if they could stay a couple more weeks while sorting out paperwork, my parents agreed. But these folks owned an enormous, vicious dog—one they didn’t want to take with them, as he never listened to us. To this day, I remember that dog. A week went by, then two, then three—yet the former owners still lived in OUR house! They slept through to dinnertime, rarely left, and showed no intention of moving. Worst of all was their attitude—they acted as though they still owned the place, especially the mother. Time and again, my parents reminded them of the deal, but their “move-out” date kept shifting. Meanwhile, they let their dog roam, never minding where he did his business—right in our garden. We were afraid to go outside; the dog attacked everyone. Over and over, my parents pleaded: keep the dog on a lead! But as soon as my father left for work and my brother and sister went to school, the dog was immediately back in the garden. In the end, it was the dog who helped my father get rid of these cheeky squatters. One day, my sister came home from school, opening the garden gate unthinkingly. The big black brute knocked her down—miraculously, she wasn’t badly hurt, just her coat ripped. They chained up the dog, then blamed my little sister for coming home too early. And that evening, all hell broke loose! Dad came back from work, and—without even taking off his coat—dragged the old lady right out into the street, still in her house dress, with her daughter and husband running behind. Every belonging of these bold squatters flew over the fence into the mud and puddles. They tried to set their dog on my dad, but the dog, seeing the chaos, tucked his tail and hid in his kennel. He wasn’t about to leave. An hour later, every last thing they owned was on the pavement, the gate was locked, and their dog sat outside with them, shut out for good.
Weve sold you the house. Were entitled to stay for a week, declared the former owners. It was 1975, and...
For about a year, my son had been living with Kate, but we’d never met her parents – it struck me as odd, so I decided to investigate I’ve always tried to raise my son to respect women first and foremost – his grandmother, his mother, his wife, his daughter. In my opinion, that’s the greatest quality a man can have: respect for women. My husband and I gave our son a wonderful upbringing and education and made sure he had everything he needed to get through life with ease. We didn’t want to help him with anything else, but we still bought him a two-bedroom flat. He did work to support himself, but he couldn’t quite afford a place of his own. We didn’t give him the flat right away, in fact, we didn’t even tell him we’d bought it. And why? Because our son was living with his girlfriend – that’s why. For about a year, he’d been living with Kate, but we’d never met her parents and I always found that strange. Later, I discovered that Kate’s mum used to be a neighbour of one of my friends. She told me something that really unsettled me. It turned out, Kate’s mother threw her husband out when he started earning less, but the real madness started after… She began seeing a married – but wealthy – man. Kate’s grandmother, just like her daughter, also had a relationship with a married man. She would even force both her daughter and granddaughter to trek out to his country house to help on his farm. Because of this, my son already found himself tangled up in his future mother-in-law’s affairs. But what concerns me most is that Kate’s mother and grandmother are turning her against her father. It’s clear the girl cares for her dad, but these two women have put her relationship with him in jeopardy. And to top it all off, Kate has decided to drop out of university. She believes it’s a man’s job to look after the family. I agree to some extent, and I raised my son for that, but heaven forbid they face any real life problems. What sort of safety net will there be if something goes wrong? How would she support her husband if that happened? By the way, I’ve put the flat back in my own name, because I know I’ve raised a bit of a soft touch, as we say. Yes, property bought before marriage isn’t divided after a divorce, but Kate is such a clever woman, she could very well send my “gentleman” packing with nothing but his socks.
So, listen, for about a year now my sons been living with this girl, Emily, but wed never met her...
– Needless to Say, This Is All My Fault! – My Boyfriend’s Sister Sobs. – I Never Imagined Something Like This Could Happen! And Now I Have No Idea What to Do Next. I Don’t Even Know How to Handle This Without Losing Face. My Boyfriend’s Sister Got Married a Few Years Ago. After the Wedding, It Was Decided the Newlyweds Would Live with the Husband’s Mother. His Parents Have a Spacious Three-Bedroom Flat and Only One Son. – I’ll Keep One Room, and the Rest Is Yours! – Promised the Mother-in-Law. – We’re All Well-Mannered People, So I’m Sure We’ll Get Along Just Fine. – We Can Always Move Out! – The Husband Assured His Wife. – I Don’t See Anything Wrong in Trying to Live with My Mum. If It Doesn’t Work, We Can Always Get Our Own Place…. That’s Exactly What Happened. As It Turned Out, Living Together Was Quite the Challenge. Both Daughter-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Tried, but Things Got Worse Each Day. Resentments Built Up and Arguments Became More Frequent. – You Said If We Couldn’t Get Along, We’d Move Out! – Cried the Wife. – Well, Haven’t We Managed So Far? – His Mother Smiled Condescendingly. – These Are Little Things, and It’s Not Worth Packing Up and Leaving Over Them. Exactly a Year After the Wedding, His Wife Became Pregnant and Gave Birth to a Healthy Son. The Arrival of the Grandchild Coincided with the Mother-in-Law Quitting Her Old Job and Struggling to Find New Work, as Employers Hesitated to Hire Someone Approaching Retirement. The Daughter-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Had to Spend All Day Together, Neither Having Anywhere Else to Go, and Tensions at Home Only Grew. Her Husband Simply Shrugged and Listened to Their Complaints, as He Was the Sole Breadwinner. – We Can’t Just Leave Mum Right Now—She Has No Income. I Can’t Leave Her on Her Own, and I Can’t Afford to Support Her and Rent a Flat for Us. Once She Finds Something, We’ll Move Out! But the Young Woman’s Patience Wore Thin. She Packed Up Her Things, and Her Son’s, and Moved Back in with Her Own Mum. She Told Her Husband She’d Never Set Foot in His Mother’s House Again, and If He Cared About Family, He’d Have to Sort Something Out. She Was Sure Her Beloved Would Try Everything to Bring Them Back Together. But She’d Judged Wrong. It’s Been Over Three Months Since She Moved Out, and Her Husband Hasn’t Tried to Win Her Back. He Still Lives with His Mum, Talks to His Wife and Child on Video after Work, and Visits Them on Weekends at His Mother-in-Law’s House. He Gets the Care and Attention of Two Women at Once; the Parent Gets Sympathy for Her Son, Left with an Angry Wife, and Doesn’t Have to Deal with the Child at All. The Husband Has It Made! And the Mother-in-Law Hasn’t Really Lost Anything, Either! The Young Woman Is Far from Happy with This Situation. She Loves Her Husband Very Much, Though She Knows He’s Not Doing the Right Thing. – What Did You Expect When You Left? – He Asks. – You Can Always Come Back If You Want. It’s Unlikely the Wife Plans to Leave Her Own Mum or Rent a Flat. The Woman, Now on Maternity Leave, Just Can’t Afford It. Is This Really the End of the Family? Do You Think She Still Has Any Chance of Going Back to Her Mother-in-Law’s House Without Losing Her Dignity?
Needless to say, this is all my fault! my mates sister sobbed. I could never have imagined things would turn...