Sleep-a-holic

Mister Smitty has dreams!

Like others of his kind, The Smee is a heavy sleeper – whose shut-eye time far exceeds his waking hours.

Do felines dream of rodent sheeps?

“I dream about being fed by these two misters who pet and coo and comb my ass.”

“Mister, we’re part of The Smee’s dreams.”

“Mister, when he sleeps then he is in his real world.”

“Where he is master of his universe, doing concert tours with his peeps.”

(little black leather baseball cap with diamonds, bling rings, etc. Oh yeah.)

Sneaky Mister and the Case of the Aloe

Mister perpetrated The Smee!

The Smitty’s sunburnt ears (cf. numerous previous blogs, crises, paranoias, etc.) have developed black crusts.

“We must intervene!” intoned That Mister.

“Here-Here” affirmed the other one.

The Mister waited until The Smee was sleeping. He peeled a spear of aloe to reveal its goo and slathered the ear of the sleeping Smee -- who wrestled but did not awake.

Success!

Flatlining

Mister Smitty has to have face time with the floor.

“The Smee is an Olympic contender when it comes to flattening himself out along the floor,” said one of those Misters (undetermined at press time) [Granpa, what did “press time” mean? – ed.]

The Smitty has the uncanny ability to lay so flat -- to get his neck so flat to the ground -- that there is an unbroken line of contact from nose to tail. Front paws are folded over to aid in the flattening.

“Mister, the world is flat; and The Smee is down with that flatness.”

“Mister, he’s on the flat-low.”

A Good Hiding

Mister Smitty likes to hide!

“Mister, where’s The Smee?”

“Mister, is he in his jungle?”

“Is he under one of his Crack House tables?” (available exclusively at--)

[quit placin’ product placements! -- the legal team]

“Mister, is he snake-in-the-grassin’ it in the tall grasses (where crop circles were wont to form themselves in the sweet old by-and-by)?”

“Mister, there he is under the guava tree. That’s a new hiding place.”

“Ssh. Don’t let him know we know or he’ll decamp himself.”

Fed Up

Mister Smitty has had it!

                 

“Quit combin’ me! That’s enough! When I say ‘Mao’ it means ‘Hol up! Cease n’desist (yo ass)!’”

                 

But This Mister just wouldn’t listen, so Mister Smitty had to get up and come a-stalkin’. This Mister had to back up like the captive hero thrown to the lions as The Smity trained his eyes on The Mister’s ever-retreating feets (all nice ‘n bare ‘n scratchable).

                

[Music up. Close up on feets backing up. Fade out. Climax postponed] 

(tantric storytelling, yo.)

Irony Free Zone

Mister Smee is irony-free.

              

(and that’s no joke, yo.)

Sadly, like so many earnest young  ________s, The Smitty has little sense of humor.

"Where’s the sun? Where’s my foods? Where’s a convenient lap?”

It’s Smitty-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick. So much for feline finesse, huh, Mr. Smee.

“Whatever. Got any food?”