Almost forgot: Happy birthday, Matilda of the Algonquin. I see her pretty often and, sometimes, give her a pat. She tends to hang out a little on the outskirts of things, but she’s always around, sitting on a suitcase or the counter. I haven’t seen her sit on the small, Freudlike couch they’ve set out for her, but then, I’m not there all the time. I’ve taken a turn away from meats, but for the hotel’s defunct steak sandwich, I’d veer back again.