Romeo who? Verona’s real diva struts far from that tourist-packed balcony—Gigia, serving looks and chaos in all the right places. In Borghetto sul Mincio, she crashes honeymoon selfies at those pastel watermills like it’s her job, while Lake Garda’s lizards scatter from her “hunting” (aka half-hearted paw swipes between naps). Soave’s castle? Please. Just her deluxe scratching post with a view.
And the province? Pure cat-influencer gold. Valpolicella’s vineyards: top spot for swatting grapes into premium wine. Lessinia’s meadows: where sheep roll their eyes at her wannabe herding. Peschiera’s fortress: basically her personal, UNESCO-approved jungle gym. Honestly, even Shakespeare would ditch the star-crossed lovers for this four-pawed queen.
Valeggio sul Mincio (VR)
Valeggio sul Mincio (VR)
We were searching for Borghetto sul Mincio's storybook watermills when fate—and Gigia's unerring radar for spectacle—diverted us to its "mother town," Valeggio sul Mincio. There, amidst the weekly antique fair's clatter of silver and porcelain, our spotted sovereign staged an impromptu coronation.
Vendors forgot their haggling to watch Gigia inspect 19th-century cameos with a collector's eye, then pause—as all royalty must—before a gilded mirror. Her approving blink said it all: Valeggio's true treasures weren't in the stalls, but trotting between them on four white paws. Even the famed tortellini (those silky, secret-stuffed pasta jewels) played second fiddle that day.
But the adventure wasn't complete without Borghetto, Valeggio's fairytale sibling. As the Ponte Visconteo's medieval arches framed the Mincio River below, Gigia transformed the bridge's narrow wooden rails into her personal high-wire act. Tail aloft like a banner, she paraded past gasping tourists as if to say:
"Watermills? Charming. Pasta? Plebeian. But this view? Finally, a backdrop worthy of me."
Others
Verona (VR)
Verona (VR)
Verona—the city of timeless romance—had no idea what hit it when Gigia arrived, turning Shakespearean drama into a feline fantasia. While lovestruck pilgrims elbowed for space at Juliet’s balcony, Gigia commandeered the Arena di Verona as her personal stage, striking poses between the ancient arches with the gravitas of a cat who knows her best angle requires golden-hour lighting. Her devoted Dream Gigia Team (comprising her long-suffering human assistant and a bemused Italian writer) scrambled to immortalize every whisker-twitch, though Gigia herself remained characteristically unimpressed—after all, 2,000-year-old Roman amphitheatres are merely adequate backdrops for a star of her magnitude.
The pinnacle of her Veronese reign came at Coin Excelsior, where the store’s entire digital display surrendered to a looping slideshow of Gigia’s greatest hits: lounging in Piazza Bra like a furry Medici, casting judgmental glances at tourists’ footwear, and contemplating the Adige River with the existential depth of a poet. Here, her literary masterpiece Gigia & Me—penned by her human scribe but undoubtedly dictated by Her Majesty—was unveiled to an adoring public. The presenter, an Italian writer of great renown attempted scholarly remarks about "interspecies connection," but the crowd only had eyes for Gigia, who held court from a velvet cushion throne, occasionally deigning to sniff a proffered hand like a Renaissance pope bestowing blessings.
By the time she departed, Verona’s cultural legacy had been irrevocably altered. The Arena’s opera singers now perform with renewed vigor, secretly hoping for a feline review. Juliet’s statue has developed a suspicious emerald-green patina. And somewhere in Coin Excelsior’s archives, security footage preserves the moment a small, imperious cat deemed their lighting "acceptable"—the highest honor in retail history.
