Stand Up Guy

White out!

                

It’s so bright outside, when The Smee tries to lick his white (ass) fur, he gets blinded.

                

<>

                

How’s everyone doing out there tonight, eh?

                

Silence. Tumbleweeds.

                

But seriously folks. Take my Smee … please!

                

<< rimshot >>

                

[Portrait of a cat comedian drowning – ed.]

                

[<>? – other ed.]

Millennial Approaches

Mister Smitty can tell time!

                

The Smitty is so punctual about his foods that you can set your watch to his dinner time (3:00:00 SST) (Smitt-istical Supper Time). So, if you need to set your watch --

                

(Millennial  tween to Blogger: “What’s a ‘watch’?”)

                 

-- and you can’t check the bottom of your screen because you don’t have internet –

                 

(Mill ‘tween: “What’s ‘before internet’ mean?)

                 

-- and are thus not even reading this post, you can stop by The Misters’ palatial digs (go to Links > Maps > 

Why are you still following these faux breadcrumbs? )

                 

-- to experience the diurnal appearance of the punctual (but not punctilious) Mister Smee!

Media, Darling

Is Mister Smitty a controversial modern artist?

                

Is he making legitimate statements or is he simply a media darling?

                

Clearly, The Smee’s chosen medium is Performance Art (warehouses have been scoured: no paintings, drawings, sculptures, etc. have been found).

                

Some suggest that The Smitty’s “crop circles” and litterbox replications – au naturel – constitute his “earth works.”

                

Let the art rags decide!

Spa Luna(tic)

Mister Smitty Goes to the Spa!

                

Actually, he lives in one – unbeknownst to The Misters.

Every morning he lies on the sunniest part of our little grass mat, stretches, and waits for one of his attendants (aka The Misters) to brush or comb him. After a brief, refreshing aloe treatment to his wee sunburned, pre-cancerous ears, The Smee shakes a leg, dismisses his attendants (“ What were their names?”) and steals away to the shower for a cool drink of water.

Prize Money

Mister Smitty should win prize money!

“Mister, he could send in to ‘Funniest Home Video’ footage of his hijnks.”

“Mister – Hello! – did you just fall out of the 90’s? Uh … it’s called YouTube. Hello?”

-- Silence of Mister –

“ANY-way!”

“We’d show him typing this blog! We could win hundreds of thousands.”

“Mister, what would The Smee do with the moolah?”

“Stick it under the bed. If it were a big enough pile he’d pee on it.”

“He’d spend it on plastic surgery to repair his sunburnt ears.”

“Or get some hair dye: ‘Yo, my hair turned white before its time!’”

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.)