Our Stella(r) Attraction

Stella (the puppy formerly known as Odette/Beatrice/Bailey/Stephanie/Margo), December 2009

This is what TS Eliot had to say about 'The Naming of Cats' (from The Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats):

The Naming of Cats

The naming of cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey -
All of them sensible everyday names.

There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter -
But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?

Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum -
Names that never belong to more than one cat.

But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

...but the naming of puppies is equally hard it seems. Since we collected her from the RSPCA on Tuesday 29 December, this 8 week old brindle girl has had at least 5 different names. (If TS Eliot's theory holds true for dogs as well as cats she can probably hang on to two of those and invent one of her own). It may have bean easier if she, like most of the shelter dogs we looked at already had a name. We had toyed with adopting Jackson or Dennis and pondered at the couplings that produced Oprah and Larissa, but whatever challenges they presented, naming them would not have been one. We think the name 'Stella' has stuck, but watch this space for updates.

Stella's arrival ensures that we will be seeing the New Year in quietly at home, probably with the lovely (prerecorded) Shaun Micallef. We saw his 'Good Evening' recently; I'll comment on that in a separate post. Happy New Year, reader(s).

Gotta find out who's naughty or nice

It was customary once in the lead up to Christmas to tell children that Father Christmas had been assessing their conduct over the year and good little girls and boys would receive a gift while those who had misbehaved would get a lump of coal. Hence the lyrics of Santa Claus is coming to town, 'he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake' etc.

Setting aside how annoying it is that the invention of the jolly fat guy doubles the number of omnipotent patriarchal figures judging us at Christmas time, and the fact that material reward has much more to do with Mummy's & Daddy's income than with getting your just deserts, I might just borrow from the conceit and award a few 2009 bon-bons and lumps of coal.

Firstly the coal, well Carl Sandilands obviously . 'Naughty' is too tame a word for him, 'repulsive', 'boorish', 'bigoted' - he can have a whole coal mine and a landslide - though metaphorically I think he's already got those! I'm afraid Kevin Rudd has been a bit bad too. He is showing a marked tendency to voice knee jerk opinions such as those on Bill Henson's work, and ill considered populist policies on internet censorship which earn him a lump of (clean?) coal from me as a reminder to behave better in 2010. Now little miss Kate Moss, you has been naughty with your pro anorexia utterings so you can have coal for Chrissy too - but whether a lot - to keep you warm, or just a bit so you don't fall over trying to lift it - I am undecided.

Who would have something nice under the tree if it was up to me? Well Barack Obama has really had a bit of a bigger present than he deserves with the Nobel Peace Prize but given his humility in admitting he is not in the same category as most past winners he can get a few gift wrapped poll points from me. Generally speaking he is turning out okay and calling Kanye West a 'jackass' alone needs to be rewarded! A personal choice, Nam Le, for giving me the most memorable gift of my reading year in The Boat, I want to reciprocate. Again there has been plenty of well deserved formal recognition, but I have to say Nam Le is a prodigiously talented writer which equals being good, very good. Now a contentious choice, someone usually placed firmly in the naughty camp, John Saffran. John you were hugely courageous to publicly confront so many of your demons in Race Relations and you did it with a mixture of hilarity and poignancy that made the program compulsive viewing in this household. Have a Hannukah trinket on me!

These are just a few names, I will be making a full list and I will be checking it twice! Seasons greetings, reader(s) - doubt I'll blog again till December 26th.

The night I burned our shammy down…

It was last night actually. Call me a stick-in-the-mud, or an alarmist, or both, but I have long been wary of the concept of Facebook. I worry about privacy and about being (more than usually) boring and self absorbed. My sisters have been badgering me and cajoling me for some time with invitations to become their ‘friend’ (too little too late if you ask me) and last night I succumbed. I thought I was just responding to an invitation to look at the tree changer/hugger sister’s latest pix of her renos and chooks but before I knew it I had created a Facebook account. And Facebook accounts are the Olympic flame of on-line record creation – they blaze forever and can not be extinguished – apparently!

Any way, I did not even attempt to undo what I had done. Partly because I thought there was an inevitability about what was happening, like abandoning BETA videos for VHS and learning how to use You Tube (which I did last month). But also because there IS something seductive about all these rellies and chums suddenly appearing in cosy little photographs beckoning you to ‘chat’ with them. Even as I mentally calculated the hours I might spend in this pursuit and playing scrabble with the other sister, I was being lured by the virtual, colourful intimacy that Facebook promises.

Then paranoia struck. There are some people with whom I do not want this added dimension of communication. Bad enough that they send me god-bothering, maudlin chain emails! I began to envisage them now being able to comment unbidden on any aspect of my life, sending me silly games and quizzes and links to photographs of their drunken revels and ghastly social occasions! Then there are people I really never want to have any contact with again. What if they found me on Facebook?

Although it was gone 8 pm and I was trying to organise dinner, I needed quick advice on how to block anyone in these categories. I put the chips on, started the salad and sought advice from those savvy but cavalier sisters of mine. Only one person on my blacklist has a name of the ‘John Smith’ variety so we found and blocked the others quickly. It did command my attention a bit though and I forgot I had put the frypan on for the schnitzel - until smoke assailed my nostrils. Oh, my god, (not the chips) but a tea towel and our brand new magic ‘shammy’ (faux chamois) cloth were alight. This conflagration lacked Olympian qualities though and a few flicks from another tea towel put it out. The ‘shammy’ is ruined. The dinner was very ordinary with dry and overcooked (oven) chips. The salad was unsinged and rather good...

We have to live with our mistakes. I hope joining Facebook isn’t one of mine and that I get the hang of it and use it in moderation. I know I will remain at heart a committed blogger though – it’s easier to get the tone of spontaneity just right when you can draft what you write first!

Farewell Waldorf

Waldorf's time on earth was limited but he used it to his utmost.

Our bunny of less than a year, Waldorf, was last seen at 3 am last Sunday. After several short- lived attempts to join the feral rabbits over the road he succeeded in leaving his genetic legacy there about 2 weeks ago (we saw him in congress with the little brown one). Then, presumably on a return visit, he must have succumbed to a dog or fox or even an owl. There is not hide nor hare (sorry) of him to be found...

Here is his farewell song (to the tune of '*Raggle Taggle Gypsies' - with apologies to 'Trad' - oh, and he had an Irish accent)

Three bunnies stood at our front gate. They jumped so high, they jumped so low

Waldorf sat in his hutch quite late. His heart it melted away like snow

They smelt so sweet, they bounced so cute that fast his tail began to twitch

As he lay on his lucerne bed, he started to feel a ceaseless itch.

He slipped the latch of his high class hutch all made of treated wood-o

He hopped to the street all stealthy like & went out in the weather & the mud-o

Avert yer eyes, leave open the gate, to roister and frolic is my intent

I’ll ne’r return to my hoi class hutch – till I secure moi heart’s content..

So oi’m off with the raggle taggle bunnies-o! (so I am)

He hopped high and he hopped low, he scampered the length of Bellbird Street

Until he came to a neighbour’s lawn and there spied a-laydee bunny-o

She nuzzled his head, she looked in his eye, and this is what she said-o:

"What makes you leave your hutch and lucerne & your golden bunny muesli-o?

What makes you leave your human slaves to join us raggle taggle bunnies-o?"

"What care I for my hutch and lucerne? What care I for my humans-o?

What care I for my buckwheat treats? I'm off with the raggle taggle bunnies-o! (So I am)"

"Last night you slept on a fluffy towel, with a layer of lucerne spread o’er – o

Tonight you sleep in a grotty ditch along with some raggle taggle bunnies-o!"

"What care I for a fluffy towel, with a layer of lucerne spread o’er-o?

When I can sleep with a laydee bunny - the best of those raggle taggle bunnies-o!"

Farewell, Waldorf - I would never have thought a bunny could be so delightful, mischievous, clever, infuriating and loveable!

* Click here for The Chieftains version.

Why we get cynical about politicians

Is it just me or has this week given us a monumental amount of evidence that most politicians are ambitious, disloyal, reactionary, self -interested, self justifying bastards? I am going to stop short of saying I feel sorry for Malcolm Turnbull. There is something about Malcolm's self assured, smirky, well-heeled persona that precludes sympathy. But for all his arrogance and sense of self righteousness he was trying to be a leader, to take a principled stand and to bring to book moronic neanderthals like Wilson Tuckey. He was clearly unsuccessful in persuading rednecks and conservatives in the Coalition that climate change is an authentic and pressing issue for the planet, and one that the electorate expects its political leaders to grapple with. Perhaps had he been more consultative or indulged the loonies just a little he could have done so. Instead the Liberal party has licensed the wonky world view of that Jesuit educated zealot, Tony Abbott. Rudd must be in 7th heaven - who in their right mind is ever going to vote for Abbott?

Below: Leunig proffered a number of candidates for federal Liberal leadership more inspiring than T. Abbot in last weekend's Herald.


In NSW the movers and shakers in the right faction of the ALP thought they'd ape the antics of the federal conservatives with death wish tactics of their own and before we even had time to recover from the national Coalition's circus act they staged a parochial one to rival it. Poor Nathan Rees (I do expend some sympathy on him). He'd shown some balls and announced the major reforms of outlawing donations from property developers and enabling the Premier to choose his own ministry only to have the thugs and bullies of the right do him to death. Does Kristina Keneally feel easy wading through all that spilled blood? How long will she last?