Friday 3 April 1998

I’m at Niki’s Restaurant on the corner of Morrison and Grand, a real classic breakfast/lunch/dinner storefront corner diner, Greek owned, American food—the hamburger. Sandwiches. Nice, but not overly so—cheap, good, plain food. Window into the kitchen—it’s spotless. Bad radio playing, but no lottery games. Earlier the week I went to breakfast at the Grand Cafe—on Broadway and Grand—kind of a mirror image of this place, in location (in a sense) and in every other way—but good, too. Insane, over the top kind of business—breakfast, lunch, and bar—karaoke every night—piano bar, dance lessons, huge TVs—lottery games, buffets, theme nights—a crazy menu with personality to spare. I like both these types of places—and both have their regulars.

We (Heather and I) took the cats to the vet earlier this week to get their teeth cleaned and found out Psyche has diabetes. So we spent the week dealing with that. Heather had to buy insulin and syringes at the pharmacy and now start giving Psyche insulin shots once—maybe twice—a day. It doesn’t seem like it’ll be too hard—but expensive! But maybe she’ll feel better—and Dr. Fallini said it’s very treatable in cats.