Tell me why I don't like Mondays... if this does count

It's been a while I wanted to start a new serie of posts called "Tell me why I like Mondays" or something like that, since in the past 2 months I've been collecting some interesting material about how blissful a Monday can be in spite of its bad fame; but then I've realized it would have actually been a sort of bummer.
I'll explain you.
I guess that 99% of workers who spend 8 hours a day / 5 days a week in an office might suffer from the so called Monday Syndrome.
I actually also know someone who suffers from a Friday Syndrome, because he kinda freaks out at the idea of leaving his office life - but now I don't mean to do shallow psychological interpretations nor be judgemental about the proportion of satisfaction that his private life might have compared to the professional one.
Let's talk about me, and I surely belong to the 99% suffering from the Monday Sydrome, starting feeling gloomy already on Sunday night, willing to smash the alarm against the wall as soon as it rings (if only it wasn't a 400 € smartphone), and feeling like being at the dentist's as soon as I step inside the linoleum hall of my office.
I actually once felt relieved at the idea of having to go to the dentist, because it meant being able to go out from work earlier. See how wrecked I am??
Well, but since a couple of months my Monday Syndrome no longer exists.
I know that now you might with eyes wide open and you're about to beg me to tell you the magical recipe I've found to longer suffer from it; but, well, the point actually is that my counterpoison is not really a medecine: it's a sort of surgery, which has cut out the trouble at its roots.
That is, since March I've only been having just a working Monday.
So do you understand the logical contraddiction behind it?
I cannot boast for having found the cure to my allergy while I've actually simply kept myself away from the allergen.

But I wanted to share with you anyway the (ri)discoveries made during these Mondays of freedom; so, avoiding to proclaim obvious healings for the Monday Syndrome, I'm just inviting you to follow me during these strolls along an alternative Turin, half-desertic and charming.

Turin's Cat Café - please come back when you'll be ready...

It's been since a few months that I was reading on Facebook the piece of news concerning the opening of a Cat Café in Turin, and this had made me grow lots of expectations.
For those who don't know it yet, a cat café is, like the word itself may suggest, a café where there are cats as well, who offer their pleasant company while you are having something there (or better... maybe having something there becomes a sort of excuse for enjoying the cats' company) and who can also be caressed and cuddled - just if they want, of course.
It's a kind of format born in the Far East (Japan and Korea) and that, little by little, has started diffusing in Europe as well, and now also in the US.
I was a bit skeptical about the fact that it could arrive in Italy too, if nothing for the fact that here public exercises must undergo through very anal hygiene rules; but, actually, if there could be a city that could have worked as a candidate for starting this kind of business on Italian territory - no one could have been better than Turin, with its Middle European appeal and its tendency of becoming a cradle for new things.
I've got to know that the first Turin's cat café opened while I was in Paris - experimenting something similar for the first time, by the way.

Liebster Award - 10 questions to me & 10 to you!

Souvenir of a Black Cat has been nominated for the Liebster Award and I'm very happy about this :)
It's not a real "award", but it's more like a chance to get to know new emerging blogs.
It's like a sort of virtual chain which consists of answering to the 10 questions made from who nominates you and nominated yourself 10 other bloggers asking them 10 new questions.

Sara from Vagabondamente is the one who has nominated me, and I thank her so much, because I truly enjoy this sort of stuff.
And here are my answers to her questions... 

[Down the memory lane] - Easter where you want

In Italy we say "Christmas with family, Easter with whomever you want".
But my personal interpretation of this has always been more like "Easter WHEREVER you want".
I'm a wandering soul and I'd always be willing to pack, not caring about the weather or the seasons; but, since I'm also a cat, I have to confess that extreme cold makes me a bit lazy and more prone for mental trips, made in the warmth of my living room, acrosso the pages of a good a book or through the swirls of a daydream.
So - Easter is somehow my turning point when, thanks to the first holidays batch of the new year and the crispy Spring air that makes you eager of new things and exporations, I usually unlock my suitcase for the first time in the year.
This one is actually a particular year: I've already done the first trip, and the Easter holiday is postponed of one week, with next Sunday's departure for Wales; therefore this Easter is for me an homely one, and, after having stuffed myself with chocolate, now I can dedicate myself to leaf through some memories of my previous Easters, spent travelling...

Whitby - If I were a vampire I would choose you as well...

Spring is my favorite season.
It's not just a matter of colors or temperatures, it's the air that you breathe that I like: it is an air that smells of rebirth, of hope, that makes you want to start something new, to discover something that you have never considered before.
And, consequently, to travel.
But the air spring is also a sort of curse to me, since I'm allergic to some yet to be identified pollen, that transforms me in a sort of feline version of Sneezy from the Seven Dwarves, anytime I dare to breathe them with my nostrils.
Now I don't mean to quibble about how each rose must have its thorn - I'll rather make an apparently nonsense connection and tell you about the most beautiful place where I've ever have an allergy attack; that is Whitby , a small gothic pearl, beautifully gloomy, perched along the coast of Yorkshire.

The Cat Band in Genoa

"Lucky you are, you are always on the road!" - has been the comment of some colleagues when I told them that on Saturday I would have gone to Genoa.
I smiled, and I thought that, actually, I go to Genoa so aften that I almost don't even consider it a real "travel" when I go there.
My friendship with Ginger Cat has been lasting, with solidity and importance, for 6 years, and we always try to meet at least once a month, alternating with some reciprocal visits.
I know the route of the railway line through Asti and Alessandria and then crosses the Alpes-Maritimes very well; as well as some corners, some libraries and some restaurants in the ducal city.
But the fact that I do not consider it a "real" trip does not mean that I do not consider Genoa as a worthy destination.
Indeed, it has been so long since I have been considering writing a post on the subject ; and I decided to draw inspiration from the trip of last Saturday when this time my visit there has been joined by Tabby Cat, Siamese Cat and Cat Gothic, bringing the feline company (almost) in full force.

Percé rocks!!

Percé is a small village overlooking the Gulf of St. Lawrence, in the region of Gaspesie, Quebec.
St. Lawrence feels like the sea, but it is not : I was about to describe Percé as a "seaside resort", because this is actually the kind of impression one gets at first, with the mirror of water looking infinite in front of you, the seagulls fishing for crabs, and lobsters as the main local specialty; but the St. Lawrence is actually a river.
Percé is a pretty little place, a holiday place that has a bit of old England taste (despite being in the French-speaking part of Canada), with colorful wooden houses, a creaky bridge that takes you along the shore, a few souvenir shop with a sort of modern kitsch taste, and some friendly small restaurants specialized in poutine .