Wednesday, January 7, 2004

Hungry cat = friendly cat

by Suw on January 7, 2004

Fflwff's been a gumpy moggie ever since she moved in here with me. I'd put it down to the other two cats and territorial issues. Seems I was wrong.

We have had to put all three moggies on a diet, and not just for their weight but for the sake of Rossi's bladder which appears to be giving her gyp (some sort of cystitis type problem). That said, Cleo is really a barrel of fat and I've taken to calling her 'lardy-cakes', much to her disgust. Cats know when they're being insulted. Fflwff's only a bit overweight but because she's so big – i.e. long – one has to be careful that she doesn't turn into a right porker by accident.

Thus there has been no food down since lunchtime.

Fflwff is currently sitting on my desk, purring fit to bust and being the happy, smiley, sociable moggie I used to know in Reading.

Amazing how friendly a hungry pussy cat can get.

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I've been having to use my brain a bit differently the last two days, doing a bit of web design again. I'm working on a site for my uncle who's designed a nifty wee thing that holds a boat tiller steady. It's been ages since I've had to change my brain about and think in pictures and designs instead of words and sentences (even if those words and sentences have often been about pictures and movement). I had worried about whether or not I was still capable of putting together a half decent design, but having looked at his competition, even my worst is better than their best.

So, my inner parakeet has been respectfully told to shut up and go to sleep (although it still squarks away from under its blanket occasionally), so that my inner gerbil can run about its cage in peace, first spinning its wheel madly whilst trying to climb up the outside and then having a quick gnaw on a conveniently placed inner bit of a toilet roll.

A change is as good as a rest, so they say.

This is possibly why I was struck with sudden inspiration in the shower this morning about SP1, which was derailed last night after hitting a very innocent-looking but deadly leaf on the line. All I did was ask V a little question about something I was stuck with, but the questions he fired back at me made me realise that the latter part of Act 2 and most of Act 3 was, in fact, pants.

I spent most of last night pacing round the house, trying to think of ways to fix the problem without having to throw away too much of what I've done. Call me a sentimental old fool, (well, less of the 'old' if you don't mind), but I had become a little attached to all those words, looking to pretty on the screen.

A long conversation with V and a lot of pacing later and I came to the conclusion that I knew what was wrong, and I knew that it needed fixing, and I knew how, theoretically, I should fix it, but the nitty gritty eluded me. I don't actually mind rewriting large chunks if I can see a good, solid reason to. I need that beacon of certainty to guide me along the road of deletion and the bridleway of rewriting. I decided to sleep on it and see if anything came to me overnight.

Well, I didn't exactly wake up with the answer in my head, but then I'm never awake when I've just woken up. I did, however, have my moment of inspiration whilst in the shower. Why do these things always happen when you're not in a position to write your thoughts down?

Anyways, I now have a passable plot for the latter part of the script, and just have to work out the fine details. Who does what to whom, where and when. Minor points. The beacon of certainty might not be shining amazingly brightly right now, but at least I can see a light in the distance that I can head towards. Let us hope it leads me not on to the dashing rocks of cliche and predictability.

On thing, though. That's the last bloody time I ask V for help…

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