— OUR STORY —

Hi, I'm Anastasia. I'm currently residing in Bulgaria, on a mission to help the innocent felines suffering in plain sight in the heart of Burgas, Bulgaria.

I have opened up my home, my heart and my efforts for these voiceless angels. Please read along to understand why I do what I do.

First: Buddy

I never decided, “I’m ready to get a larger than me dog.” — I found myself in a situation where someone I already loved was about to lose his home and end up in poor conditions. That was the first time I changed the course of my life for an animal in need.

Buddy belonged to my mom. Whenever I visited, Buddy would choose to sleep with me, even when he didn’t have to. Then I moved far away, and even through FaceTime, our bond remained strong. One day, my mom told me she was no longer willing to care for him. She said she would either give him away or ship him off to Bulgaria.

The moment I heard that, my heart sank.

— You see, before Buddy, there was Sarah. —

Sarah was a beautiful husky who belonged to my uncle. My family lives in one big house near Burgas—my uncle’s family on the first floor, my grandparents on the second, my mom on the third, and an open terrace above. I adored Sarah. I used to sleep outside just so I could be close to her. I’ve always been that way. When I was little and we were in Bulgaria, if my mom couldn’t find me in my own bed, she would usually find me curled up in the bed of our big boxer, Rexy. Animals have always felt like home to me. But I was never allowed to take Sarah for a walk.

Years later, when I came back to Bulgaria, Sarah was old. I wasn’t speaking to my aunt at the time, so I couldn’t spend time with her. I would just stand outside the fence and look at her, wishing I could sit beside her, massage her aching body, and remind her that she was loved. — To me, she was suffering. To everyone else, it was normal. “She’s just old.” — I never accepted that.

I wish growing old didn’t mean becoming invisible. I wish it didn’t mean needing less love, less comfort, or less attention.
Sarah died. I believe she died from neglect.

I couldn’t be there for Sarah. But I wasn’t going to knowingly let Buddy have the same fate.

So I left the life I had started to build and moved back to British Columbia. We did our best to make a life for ourselves in Vancouver, but I was depressed. Fast forward, we are here now, in Burgas, Bulgaria — minding our own business and that has become the kitties we see on our walks.

Slavi

Before Peanut and Sam, and in between the stories that are easier to tell, there were others — Sushi, Slavi, another little Slavi believed to be his brother, Bogo, Grizzly, Basil, Leah and more.

Each came into my life under different circumstances, and each left something with me. Some I was able to help, some I had to entrust to others, and some I lost despite desperately wishing for a different ending.

Slavi as the first sick kitten I nursed back to health. Until he died. He found me on one of the most difficult mornings of my life. He was tiny, sick, struggling to see and breathe, and a storm was coming. I had 20 bucks, I earned very little as a teacher at a private school, but I took him to a clinic. While I was trying to save him, he helped carry me through that day.

Every little meow, every loss, and every heartbreak that opened my heart and path taught me something — and I

then came Peanut

Peanut was the first homeless cat in Burgas that I really bonded with. I found him near my family home with his mother and brother. They lived near the garbage bins by my family home. They were really little and completely feral, and they all had eye infections. I only meant to help them with their eyes, but to actually treat it, I had to build a routine with them, and I became so attached to this little family.
I had promised Peanut I would take care of him. Then he went missing, and I thought I'd lost him. And then I found him again, but it was just such a cruel situation because by then, I didn't have a way to bring him inside. I wasn't brave enough. I was exhausted and stuck in all these old patterns, making dysfunctional choices in my own head instead of listening to myself.
And then I lost him anyway. He was killed by a fast driver in a small residential neighbourhood nearby. I found him myself after work, lifeless in the middle of the street in that otherwise quiet, wealthier neighbourhood.

Bubba, his brother, cried desperately when I took Peanut’s body away that night. I went back for him the very next day.

A week later, I got their feral mum, too. I named her Shrimp, and as heartbroken as I am. I am so grateful that I have these two cats living safely with me.
I think that's what hurts so much. I had found Peanut twice, in a way. And the second time, I couldn't do what I wanted to do for him.

then came Samuel


Sam was more than a rescue. He was a life that mattered deeply — a cat who endured more than any animal ever should, yet continued to inspire an extraordinary amount of love, compassion, and determination in the people who fought for him.
— His journey included serious illness, surgeries, countless veterinary visits, difficult decisions, and moments when the future was uncertain. He underwent major surgery, including a mandibulectomy, and eventually required a feeding tube as his condition progressed. — But Sam’s story was never simply about his illness. It was about how far we are willing to go for an animal who cannot advocate for himself. It was about refusing to look away. And it was about recognizing that a life does not become less valuable simply because saving it is difficult, expensive, inconvenient, or uncertain. —Sammy was given something every animal deserves: a chance. From One Life to Something Bigger. —Through Sam, something much larger began to take shape. A neglected space was transformed into a safe, comfortable refuge — the Meow House. What began as a place created to give Sam safety and care became a place capable of helping others, too.
There are so many animals living outside, surviving day to day without dependable food, medical care, protection, or even a warm place to sleep. Some are born into that life. Some are abandoned. —Others are sick, injured, frightened, or simply overlooked. Once you truly see them, it becomes very difficult to walk past them. So I began making room. Room in my home. Room in my schedule. Room in my finances. And, most importantly, room in my heart.
Animals who had spent their lives surviving could finally rest without wondering where their next meal would come from. Cats who had never known the security of a home could discover warm beds, full bowls, toys, affection, veterinary care, and people who genuinely cared whether they were okay. These may seem like ordinary things. But to an animal who has never had them — they can mean everything.
Sam changed everything. He taught me both the beauty and the difficulty of fighting for animals who have no voice of their own. He showed me how much can happen when people choose compassion instead of indifference. The Meow House is part of his legacy. — Every bowl of food placed in front of a hungry cat. Every frightened animal brought somewhere warm. Every veterinary appointment. Every medication given. Every comfortable bed. Every adoption. Every second chance. They are all reminders of why this began. Sam’s journey taught me that sometimes saving one animal does more than change one life. Sometimes that one life changes yours — and inspires you to change the lives of many more.
The Meow House exists because animals like Sam deserve people who refuse to look away. And as long as I have the ability to help, his legacy will continue — one life, one rescue, and one second chance at a time.
  • Slavi and Bogo
  • Sammy and Basil
  • Leah after her procedure
  • Basil at the Meow House
  • Sammy before his surgery
  • Samuel sleeping happily
  • Sam sleeping peacefully
  • Sammy snuggling me
  • Sammy out and about - with me
  • Sam at the Meow House
  • Sammy waking up from his surgery
  • Sammy, Buddy and I at a friend's house
  • Sammy and I