Tessa 2000-2012

The Cat – actual handle Countessa de Kitty-Kat – was buried in the fortress pet cemetery late last week.

When I first met Tessa in 2002, she was a bit of a poor excuse for a feline – watching her climb a fence always made me flash on the unfortunate Private Pyle in Full Metal Jacket. She wasn’t heavy or anything – just… out of practice with being a cat, or something like that. She was friendly enough (no random attacks received), well-mannered (when handled with care, she gave fair warning when enough was enough), and low maintenance (she always toileted outside).

In 2003, Tessa went through a number of major life-events. The aiga, numbering three humans at that time, moved westward to what was to become Fortress Mamea. The new abode had its own resident cat, Pablo (full handle Pablo Ninja Cat), a large and gregarious chap. The aiga swelled with the sudden arrival of a fourth human, The Boy. And then The Dog was acquired.

Each change was a challenge for Tessa. She sealed her place in the fortress hiearchy with the patient and successful stalking of a mouse under the oven. She shunned Pablo who enjoyed our company until the word ‘diet’ was mentioned, whereupon he adopted the lovely Gladys across the road (who feeds him – I shit you not – on a 24/7 basis). Tessa’s relationships with late arrivals The Boy and The Dog could easily have been the final straws… but both boy and canine soon found their place in the fortress hierarchy (below the cat).

The fortress grounds have ample trees and vegetation, and soon enough, Tessa learned how to scale fences and trees like a real cat.  The local fauna have provided other exercise, the past decade scattered with the remains of a mouse, bird or rat tastefully left outside the back door for the unsuspecting barefoot occupant.  In winter she loved the wood burner – curled whiskers a specialty – while in the summer she soaked in the sun like a four-legged black hole.

Tessa will be missed.  She was loved by The Girl and The Goddess.  And although The Boy and I dreaded the racket she would make at the back door to be let into the house for —

a). fuss,
b). food,
c). warmth,
d). company,
e). a). through to d).

— we have found ourselves waiting to hear it in the morning, curses on the tips of our barely awake tongues – only to realise Tessa is no longer with us.

May there be plentiful 1kg blocks of tasty cheddar cheese wherever she is now.

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Half-arse

I have four half-finished posts sitting in the Drafts section of my blog.

I have started each one with good intentions – or a fiery nigh-biblical consumerist anger – but half-way or so through each draft post, I have lost the thread, or the idea, or my way.

But I think it’s okay because my ‘proper’ writing is progressing okay. I confess that a lot of the past fortnight’s silence has been due to bracing for a public reading. There are a couple of other projects bubbling away that I’ve been juggling, along with the day job.

So… I guess this post is a placeholder. Back in a bit.

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Hoo

So I’m not even a minute into this yarn when a smile begins to form. Five minutes in and I realise that all the testesterone-spiked Yeah‘s and awe-struck Whoa‘s are coming from the film’s heroes rather than the couch.

I’m sure the film is cueing training a new generation of action film aficionados but I feel a little obsolete.

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Portent

I’m getting a little sick of those situations where a BOY and GIRL, already in a relationship, has stuff happen to either of them – y’know, the A plot – when:

EXT. SOMEWHERE – SOMETIME

BOY is doing something that occupies his mind.

There’s a KNOCK on a DOOR – it’s GIRL.

GIRL

I need to talk to you.

— or —

INT. BOY’S FLAT – SOMETIME

BOY answers PHONE:

BOY

Hello.

GIRL

(V.O.; filter)

It’s me.

BOY

(smiles)

It’s you.

GIRL

(V.O.; filter)

We need to talk.

– and nine times out of godsdamned ten, GIRL is pregnant.

This is about as annoying as the good ol’ I’ve-got-something-to-tell-you-but-I-can’t-over-the-phone-so-let’s-make-a-time-to-meet-which-I-won’t-make-because-I’ll-be-dead-by-then.

I have a vague memory of an interesting execution of this plot point. Went something like this:

INT. DINER – EVENING

BOY and GIRL, out on a date, share a MILKSHAKE. In between milkshake slurps and giggles:

GIRL

That movie was so funny!

BOY

Yes, it was – my stomach hurts from all the laughing –

GIRL

Funny you should mention stomach pains –

She smiles.

He smiles.

GIRL

I’m pregnant.

Who saw that coming?

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Gild

Okay, (I suppose) I’m excited about the upcoming third season of The Walking Dead when one of the publicity stills caught my eye:

Compare that to our introduction to her in the comic:

Am I being nitpicky in thinking, What’s with the Masai She-Warrior shit?

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Oh Alright Maybe

A flurry of Facebook comments from Stevo and Motorbike Steve about the return of The Walking Dead behooves me to confess that The Goddess and I started watching the second season a while back and got two eps -, no wait, three -, hang on.

… Whoa. Okay. Disappointment in the second season was so deep that it wasn’t even entered into my viewing diary.

I’m as shocked as you are, believe me.

But back to the story. We got however many eps into the season and She turned to me and said what I’d been thinking for all the eps subsequent to the season opener: This is boring. So we stopped.

Michonne and travelling companions (“The Walking Dead” #19).

But Season 3 beckons with the promise of Michonne and the penitentiary arc and… godsdammit, that arc was just mindblowingly awful (but in a good way) that I just have to relive it, and it’s been too, too long since we’ve had a bad-ass no-nonsense African American heroine like Strange Days‘ Mace.

Angela Bassett as Mace in “Strange Days” (1995).

Yeh okay, I’m in.

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Insert

NOVELIST

My measure of progress is the number of words I can get down on paper. A good day is 500 words.

ME

What’s your target word count?

NOVELIST

(shrugs)

Anywhere between 80,000 and 150,000. How about you screenwriters?

ME

Page count is our measure. Y’know: 30ish or 60ish for a half-hour or one-hour TV show, 90-120 for a feature.

NOVELIST

(nods)

And when you’re part way through a script? What’s a good day?

ME

A good day is five pages that I don’t want to set alight.

(off Novelist)

A bad day is when I resort to the “Insert Page Break” feature.

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