Brunch with Mister Smitty

Mr. Smitty should have a leash!
Then, we could take him “downstairs” to eat with us: (doo-do-do, doo-do-do (sound of time passing as the Misters march the Smitty on his leash down to the breakfast joint))
“I’ll have a short stack, a breakfast burrito, and whaddya want, Mr. Smee?”
“(purr)”
“Plate a milk.”
While we wait, we read the paper.
“What part of the paper do you want, Mr. Smitty.”
(dumb look like, “duh, obviously, the comics: it’s where the cats are”)
“He don’t want to read the paper, he wants to pee on it!”

A Short Note on the Luxuriously Long Front Legs of the Smitty

Mister Smitty has long front legs! He likes to stretch them out in front of him when he sits in the sun like a Sphinx (which is the royal stone form of Mister Smitty).

Or when he lays completely flat, his legs stretch way out in front of him like he’s diving or flying through the air like Super Smitty!

And his cape snaps behind him in the wind when he adventurizes.

Mister Smitty, Lap Dancer

Mister Smitty is a lap-dancer!

Mister Smitty likes to do laps.

As soon as a Mister sits down, the Smitty’s sensitive “fresh lap” radar turns his head in a lapward direction and propels the Smee to the targeted lap.

Once ensconced, he scrunches up his face all satisfied-kine and rests his head on a Mister’s knee.

As if to say, “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, G.”

Lettuce Now Praise a Famous Smitty

Mister Smitty sleeps in the window boxes!

He likes the dirt feel and the edging – like a bed – that his fluffiness gets to lie up against for warmth and protection.

(Don’t ask the arugula that’s being crushed by his massive stomachs what they think about the Smitty’s new habit)

But this, too, shall pass, little lettuces!

Mr. Smitty’s Purr-pose in Life

Mister Smitty likes to purr!

When the Smee climbs into the Mister’s lap (either Mister, since they’re basically interchangeable as far as a sleepy Smitty is concerned) he puts his head up by Mister’s knees like a judge listening to a case.

“Objection, Your Honor!”

“(purr).”

Sleep Study

Mr. Smitty likes to sleep! He can sleep on and off all day. But what is “on” and what is “off” for the Smitty? To find out we conducted our “Heavy Petting” test: If deep, luxurious petting (including some finger rigidity) does not draw a response from the Smitty, then he is deemed “asleep.”

But if light, floatingly brushed-across-the-surface kine petting actions draw even the slightest response from the Smitty, we must consider him at only the entry level of sleep business. Or, in laymen’s terms, “cat-napping.”

Mister Smitty, Barbie, and Buddha

Mr. Smitty uses Barbie’s shelf like a superhighway! The Barbie always be getting knocked down by the Smitty (though Buddha, under her gently outstretched hand, remains undisturbed) and Miss Barbie’s little Chinese take-out carton (under her other gently outstretched arm) keeps getting knocked down, too! Mister Smitty is a reckless smitty. “Mebbe she goin’ have to get rid of her Chinese take-out!” “Mebbe she finished eatin’her Chinese take-out, and Mr. Smitty be bussin’ her table to make some room!” “Mister Smitty don’t bus. He’s a sommelier or somfin’ li’dat.”

Reincatenation

Gatto -- [the fluffly black cat of legend who was one of this mister’s former cats (and whose amazing story (including TV appearance) is chronicled in the pre-blog days of the last century in huge leather-bound tomes stored at the Bodelian))] -- would be the anti-Smitty in one of those cartoon adventure universe. Mr. Smitty could possibly be the Return of Gatto in a white version (see previous blog), post-Bardo sort of good-reward-reincarnation-type being (since Gatto was a good cat and thus deserving of a reincarnation as the Smitty!). Of course, reincarnation is just our flawed, time-based way of glimpsing the actual reality of the eternal present – multiple simultaneous presents we move nomadically in and out of eternally… … right Mr. Smitty? (cos he know, yo.)

Wizardry

“Mister Smitty the White” should be his wizard name. Like Gandalf, who comes back from the dead -- or wherever he comes back from—

[Tolkien experts now respond in droves to correct me; the computer overloads; the server explodes; the Mister Smitty Website implodifies, all blogs crashing together into a thickly-matted jungle of black letters; The photos of Mister Smitty all tumble, their black square frames cracking like eggshells and the photos of Mister Smitty jump out (as a cat would naturally do when something he is in side of starts to fall), and all multiple smitties, --his poses, his runnings, his pausings – all float out of the debris and run, transformed, into whiter versions of themselves – --and it all ends in a huge white out of Smitty selves converging toward the camera and swooping over us in a rush of brilliant white!]

Scratchable Design Flaws

If you scratch the Smitty right on the breast bone he’ll always stop and oblige you. It’s not a place he can get to very well; it’s just how smitties are constructionated that prevents them from getting a good scratch up in there -– no’m sayin’?

On a similar note, [what note would that be… D flat?] when a Mister is about to comb the Smee for fleas, the Mister first presents the tines of the comb to Mister Smitty’s nose so he know what commin’ at him, down the pike, ya dig?

Sleepatronics #2

You can pet the Smitty when he’s asleep. That’s because the Smee doesn’t sleep in the same way that we do; His sleep is a fluid, elastic, home of many mansions. He can go in and out of sleep fluidly and easily. When is a smitty fully NOT sleeping, anyway? They’re always in some kind of leisure state, yes? Dis is some kind of philosophie, jah?

Sleepmaster Smitty

Mister Smitty is a Master Sleeper!

He puts his paw over his face

…to block out the light?

…because he’s having a private Pirate Smitty dream? (it’s his way of putting a patch over his eye) “Miao, Miao, Miao and a bottle of rum! “Argh, matey!” (The Smitty spies a wee mousey). “Avast, ye land-lubbin’ mices! I’m coming to get ye!”

Barre Nun

Mister Smitty is a choreographer!

“OK people! Come out to the middle of the stage, flop on your side, lick you paws. Follow me. Good. Lick that back paw. In between the claws, people!

“OK. Now the crotch!” “Get the back foot straight up in the air, people! Now, stomachs on the floor…and stretch those front legs out – stretch ‘em out!

And here’s what I like to do: cross those front paws at the wrist.

(Mister Smitty’s signature position).

Veggie-Might

Mr. Smitty is a vegetarian!

Mr. Smitty got up on the table and started to sniff the salad – and lick some lettuce.

“It’s like eating the grass.”

He licked but he didn’t bite. (It’s like not inhaling). We put the salad down by his bowl. We want to see if The Smitty will actively pursue a “vegetarian lifestyle.”

Fictionification

Sirs,

It has come to our attention from frequent “comments” appended to this blogsite from Our Devoted Reader(s) that there is a growing suspicion that some of The Smitty’s hijinks are “fictionalized.” Let me assure our dear readers that nothing could be further from the truth than this fiction! Everything you read in these (electronic) pages is true (though, of course, virtual). For those as yet unsatisfied by these fervent avowals, you are cordially invited to see for youse self by inspectifying the grounds, offices, hallways, broom closets, and mechanical rooms of mistersmitty.blogspot.com during regular office hours.

Sincerely,

The Mange-ment

Mr. Smitty, Author

This notebook was flipped open to a new page and this pen was found askew.

This Mister asked That Mister:

“Mister, was Mister writing about Mr. Smitty?

“Mister, no.”

“Mister, maybe Mr. Smitty was writing to tell it from his side.”

“The untold story, no’m sayin’?”

“The authorized edition”

“I am Mr. Smitty, and I approve of this message.”

“Mr. Smitty’s lawyers will be calling now.”

“Mr. Smitty’s peeps.”

“Yeah. Except Mr. Smitty’s peeps all have law degrees.”

“Shoots!”

The Sultan of Smitty

Like a harem, Mr. Smitty played with a white plastic bag!

-- not a trash bag (see “Mystery of the Trash Bag I – V, the quintology)
but a small white plastic bag that the Misters had got corn on the cob in from the store.

Maybe it smelled good? Like a harem?

The Smitty’s face was impressed into it briefly – like the shroud of Turin.

“Get the carbon dating equipment and laser-x-ray technology all up here to authenticate if it actually is the Smitty’s face impressed into this white plastic corn bag!”

Da Vater Code VII: The Ergonomics of Kitty Water Delivery Systems

Let’s recreate the scene…

[Answer (for those who do not wish to recreate the scene but who, on RSS feeds, need to read, digest, laugh, make faces of anger, etc, and move on to climb the corporate ladder):

The Smitty can sit standing (betcha wish I’d say “see attached photo,” huh?) and the lip of the watering can is exact-a-mately at his neck height (yo) so he simply dips and sips hisself till he be satiated, ya dig?]

…it was a warm summer’s day in the rural farming community of K…

Gracious Host Tales #2: Certified Lap Inspector

When The Blossom (aka Ms. Fabulous) was still sitting in the passenger seat of my truck, she was visitated by a certain Certified Lap Inspector (of whom we sing).

Driver door open, I hear the Inspector announce hisself with a plaintive peep and then futz a bit about how when where why to jump up into my lap (apparently the only way to enter the cab – since the floor is an unknown quantity).

That initial jump having been done, The Smitty cast his noses about and spied a certain Sacred Blossom having ridden shotgun.

Standing on my lap, he stared at her and posed the following questions (silently):

“Yo, whatchall doone sitting in that Mister’s seat?”

“Are you safe to smell?”

“Is you r lap going be made like them other laps?

Reassured by the Blossom’s gentle cooing (and years of cat-owning), the Smitty made a cursory reconnaissance mission into her lap to get a feel for the territory.

Seeing that the lap checked out, he went about his business. He’s a busy Smitty – he cannot sit and be petted all day by fawning humans!

Tales of the Closet #2: Sneaky Smitty and the Case of the Cubbyholes

We last left the Smitty safely in the closet. But that wasn’t safe enough for the Smitty: once a cat gets into the closet there’s no end to his adventurizing.

You see, the Smitty has climbed up onto the shelves above the hanging shirts to hide in the cubbyholes where lacy unmentionables and very mentionable work t-shirts and such are folded with an O.C. glee.

There, the Smitty settles in for long winter’s sleep.

Well, a certain Mister who shall remain nameless was nary very pleased with the prospect of white cat hairs all over his carefully folded t-shirts – not to mention the wrinkling from the tremendous weight of the Smitty’s reclining bum and girth plopped down and snuggled-in to the aforesaid shirts.

All this by way of leading up to a key scrap of expostion which must be in place for the climax/punchline/long-awaited-end of this story to work:

That Mister cleverly installed cardboard doors to cover the violated cubbyholes. Thick, corrugated cardboard flaps that hinge at the bottom and hook onto a nail at the top (very ship-like, very train-compartment). The Misters can hide these items from wandering Smitties looking to nestle.

But in the exciting climax of this story, one of the flaps was left open, in the down postion, thus providing a cardboard shelf for the Smitty to step out onto.

Which he did.

And promptly fell -- in a stunning and hilariously ungraceful and thoroughly un-cat-like way – to the floor.

Mr. Smitty fell out of the closet!

A Very Closeted Smitty

Mr. Smitty is in the closet!

No, yo, he’s climbing all up in the clothes and sich.

The clothes are minding their own bid’ness on hangers all pressed together tightly and this tightness of fashion options provides a platform upon which the Smee can jump and land.

From there, diagrams are needed to show how the Smitty stands on the left (metaphorical) shoulders of the Misters’ shirts and jumps over the closet pole onto the right shoulders to hide in the little space there under the top shelf.

It is only the friction of the many pressed-together shirts that keeps the Smitty from plunging into the laundry basket beneath.

In closets where the shirtage is less copious -- or where negative space between shirts is provided for airflow -- the Smitty would be jacked!

Gracious Host Tales #1:The Professor

When The Professor came over for a drink, the Smitty waited until the professor was pleasantly ensconced in the low-slung mama-san swivel chair (this mister’s main chair), drink in hand, holding forth on some subject

-- and then, from nowhere, he leapt up into the professor’s lap and settled in for some heavy petting.

"Well hello,” said the Professor a-petting. “What a beautiful cat you are.”

And then, addressing the Misters: “He’s beautiful. And so clean!”

And then they all sat by the fire and had tea

[or something like that. I mean where do they get these entries? Old children’s books?—ed.]

Da Vater Code VI: “I Placed a [Watering Can] in Tennessee”

It took many weeks of watching the Smitty drinking from the watering can --

(which actually has a fulfilling life qua watering can for the Misters’ various herbs, flowers, plants, etc. don’t get me wrong – the can is not some cutesy prop expressly placed for the Smitty’s delectation)

(nor is the can a fictional construct around which to build, pearl-like, the story of the Smitty’s drinking habits.)

(“In fact, get the art dept on the blower and get us a photo of that can, STAT!”)

--to discover another, dare I say SECRET, reason for why the Smee has swtichified to the outside water source rather than sticking with the inside water delivery system (see previous blogs for tedious descriptions of same).

And that secret other reason for the switcheroo is…

To Be Continued

(due to the fact that we have reached the “blog barrier” – the maximum length a blog entry can be without becoming a tedious, self-involved drag on the reader’s time.)

Perpetratin’ Them Dang Winderboxes (Redux)

The eponymous main character of which we sing likes to go up into them there winderboxes and plop his Smittiness down will-he nil-he on whatever happens to be trying to grow in there.

To add insult (to us) to the injury (to the plants), he lounges in such a way as to spread out his flanks, his haunches, his back forty to a hideously wide proportion, filling the windowbox from rim to rim with a plump blanketation of Smittiness.

Such luxuriously shameless behavior could cause alarm amongst The Misters … … except that the Smitty’s cuteness usually serves to calm The Misters.

Mr. Smitty on Moisturizing.

Neutral.

Da Vater Code V: The Secret (of Why the Smitty has Migrated to the Watering Can) REVEALED!

“Mister, Mister Smitty likes to drink from the watering can.”

“Mister, We are always careful to keep it full to the top so the Smitty can reach the water.”

“Mister, we are. We are good Misters.”

“Mister Smitty, are we good Misters?’

Mister Smitty: (lapping sounds)

“Mister, I think he likes to drink that water because he thinks it’s fresher. It’s like a rain puddle. The Gato used to always drink from rain puddles.”

“True dat, G.”

“Mister, do you think that Mister Smitty thinks that that is a puddle?”

“Shoots.”

“That he doesn’t know that we top off the watering can on a daily basis expressly for the Smitty?”

“Mister, maybe.”

Da Smitty Code V: Gratuitous Dead-ends

The secret code tattooed in the Smitty’s ear is not a Fibonacci sequence or its opposite, its inverse, its reverse-inverse, its square root, its cube root, cue stick, or rubik’s cube. (though it could sort of look like Versace sequins.)

Nor is this number hidden in the first letters of the words used in the following sentence:

The quick brown fox jumped up the lazy river where the flying fishes play.

The secret code cannot be obtained by guessing the meaning of a rhyming quatrain or by holding this computer screen up to a mirror.

The secret is not something to be gotten by translating the following bit of Baudelaire:

Leurs reins feconds sont plein d’etincelles magiques
Et des parcelles d’or, ainsi qu’un sable fin,
Etoilent vaguement leur prunelles mystiques.

But: all of these items have a secret correlation and significance that may or may not have anything to do with this or any other secret!

Da Vater Code IV: A Sentimental Journey to Chance and Italy

Lately, the Smee has taken to preferring to sip his water from the watering can on the porch (rather than from the plastic “tandem”dish which places his water within kissing-cousin distance to his food).

The Smitty can often be found sipping away contentedly at his newly discovered, natural and organic and aesthetically pleasing watering can.

Like a good Italian mom, the Smee knows where to go to get the freshest ingreediments!

Da Vater Code III: Amendations & Codicils

The dispositional situation vis-a-vis the Smitty’s water, frequency of change, bowlage, etc., includes some details not heretofore covered by the bloggist or his subsidiaries. Thus, we include these amendments to the description of the Smee’s water and its environs:

1)Beneath the Smitty’s water and food is laid a tea towel, white with blue writing (“Wachenfield” – source or meaning unknown) and graphics (a cat’s face – meaning known). Said tea towel is a present from the Mister’s Sister (not that mister’s sister, but this mister’s sister).

2)Since the date of the writing of the previous blog entry – to be distinguished from the posting of said entry – the Smee has suffered the following changes to his circumstances vis-à-vis water, food, and their means of delivery:

a)the FOS bowl that formerly contained his water has been reclaimed by the kitchen staff (in particular the Saucier and hors d’oeuvres maker) and replaced, at the other Mister’s command, by a light-weight plastic “tandem”dish allowing a side-by-side presentation of food and water.

[a transcript of the mediation between the Misters about this radical change in food and water delivery systems vis-à-vis the Smee – a contentious debate striking at the very heart of the constituent issues – is available (forthcomingly – since it is still being used in a legal proceeding) at the legal division’s website]

b)I forget what I was talking about.

Da Vater Code II: The Faux FO Soup Interlude

The Official Water Bowl of the Smitty is a brown ceramic bowl with two loop handles on each side. It is one of a set of French Onion Soup bowls.

(I have made French Onion Soup (FOS) only on e winter in them -- and that was actually a faux FOS made with Mugi miso, all stodgy, sour, and impacted in a way that warms one in winter, doesn’t it, Mr. Smitty?

Mr. Smitty: (no response)

Mister: Does the Smitty like his water?

Mr. Smitty: (no response)

Mister: (turning to his audience in cyberspace) We replace the Smitty’s water often. Perhaps too often. Gentle readers, How often do you replace your smitty’s wa-wa?

Da Vater Code

Mr. Smitty likes to drink his water!

He’s very still when he does it.

I like to watch him do it.

(I’m not sure he likes me to watch.)

So…

When the smitty is drinking his water, we alert each other to the fact

in a coded, impersonal way so as not to disturb the smitty:

“Mister, someone is drinking his water!”

“Mister, someone is!”

Da Smitty Code IV: Shocking Revelation (part one of one)

The secret code hidden in the Smitty’s ear is not bigger than a bread box.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ the unspeakable name of god.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ dog.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ only visible with lemon juice

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ special specs.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ really just a bunch of fleas

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ all that interesting.

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ however, still our topic!

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ still perpetrating blog entries

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ a vapid dead end for a story

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ well-beaten dead horse

“ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ “ number.

The Zen of Box Self-Insertion (or, What is the Sound of one Mister Laughing)

Today –

San Pelligrino box half-full:

Mr. Smitty darts inside –

-- Can’t Fit!

Funny Smitty!

Mr. Smitty vs. Empty Space

Mr. Smitty likes to hide in boxes!

When the Misters get a case of Perrier, we keep the boxes for our empty bottles (to take to the rechonchling). That means that these kitty-friendly boxes hang around empty and waiting like a lap ready to be sat in.

And if one of these gaping boxes happens to fall over…

The Smitty darts into it and has a box adventure!

“Box Adventures” follow a pattern:

1) dart inside and wrestle down each corner of the box to ensure there are no other means of egress (or to discover if critters ripe for capture and beheading are present)

2) peek back out to see if the coast is clear, to watch the bemused reaction of the Misters, or to bid farewell to the former world

3) Plunge back into the box for a long rest richly deserved by the conquering Smitty!

Da Smitty Code III: Send in the Tropes (I: Scour Old Books Importantly)

What if the secret code tattooed in the Smitty’s ear is the Smitty’s secret name?

You know, as in T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and Sich how he (I mean my man T) talks about how them cats’s has gotten themselves three-kine names for thesselfs:

1) the normal everyday whatevahs name what you call him (li’ dat).

2) The name with which they call each other and RECONNIZE each other.

3) The top secret name known only to the cat itself.

Which of these is the tattooed identity, T?

And can I utter the name tattooed on his ear or must I stay mum?

I know! I’ll consult a crochety old expert type!

Mr. Smitty’s Eye Candy

Mr. Smitty used to have a watery eye in the beginning.

It would leak a slow burble of dark colored chonch (or would become dark from exposure to air, his paws, and the dirt?)

When I got him I also got some Neosporin-type stuffs I was to put on his eye twice a day. I dutifully did same in a semi-accurate way: I did it half the time. This daily purging of plumtree gum from the Smitty’s eye was the way we initially bonded.

He let me do it. Good Smitty!

Da Smitty Code II: Beat a Tatoo at 1:45

The Secret code identifying the Smitty is tattooed in the smitty’s ear!

“That’s the Smitty’s tat, yo.”

"Nice tat, my man!”

“Hey, Smit-Dog, that tat is the shit!”

[Here I must confess a dislike of the moniker “Smit-Dog” -- especially in reference to a CAT, (yo)]

Does your cat have a tat in his/her/its (cause, hey: some cats is “its”) ear?

But what is the tattoo of? Of what shape, color, and expanse?

Scanning all previously released photos of the Smee may lead to a few conclusions/theories:

1) that the tattoo is small enough to be completely hidden inside the Smitty’s ear.

2) That no one has successfully photographed the actual tattoo of the Smitty

2.5) …or has lived to tell about doing so – and the evidence is lost

2.6) …or it’s not lost but has been expurgated, suppressed, covered up

2.7) …and who would have done the covering? Opussy Dei!

On the Nature of Feline Depth Perception with Regard to the Olfactory

Mr. Smee watched a bird land (in the spiky palm-huge succulent-thingee that’s as tall as a mister). The Smitty grew rigid and ear-perky as the bird checked out the orange seeds on the crown of the tree that are like cherry tomatoes.

The Smitty could jump across from the porch to the tree top but it’s all spiky and he must imagine it to be such – not flat –

Maybe the Smitty can tell by SMELL that the palm-succulent tree thang isn’t flat! It’s a depth perception thing the smitty has but with his nosiness instead of his peeps

(Not his “peeps,” yo; his peepers! No’m sayin? Yeh. Yeh.)

Mr. Smitty's Fat Stomachs

When Ipo (good dog) comes roaming, Mister Smitty jumps up onto the porch railings and then lays down in the flower boxes.

But Mr. Smitty is a good gardener smitty and he doesn’t crush the lettuces or scallions with his fat stomachs when he flops them down and collapses into rest.

Good Smitty!

Da Smitty Code I: The Plot Thins

I read the secret code inside the Smitty’s ear. The answer, which I would so like to divulge, has been expurgated from this entry for legal and financial reasons (and personal) (and sentimental). I’m sure you understand.

Besides, in terms of plotting, one shouldn’t begin with the answer, but delay and draw out suspense for as long as possible -- just to the point before fevered attention crosses over into boredom...

…which would then lead inexorably on to disgust, then indignation, and then to anger, revulsion, and finally turning into derision, condescension, followed soon by a lessening of intensity: belittled pitying, bemused toying-with, eventually trivializing, and finally bored indifference once again.

Rather the trajectory of the above sentence, this whole entry…nay, the entire blog itself (…”and leave not a [sale] rack behind…”)

What was I saying? Oh yes: The secret code is:

Ha! fooled you! You thought I’d forget about how—

“ANY-way!…”

Plastic Trash Bag Mystery V: Now and Forever

"It’s the SOUND!”

“Of what?

“The bag!”

“What ‘bag’?”

“The trash bag.”

“The trash bag has a sound?”

“When you open it.”

“Stop using italics, all the time, yo.”

“Don’t “yo” me, yo.”

[ED: we feel we must step in at this point and call a halt to this. Clearly the writer has laid the set up for a “yo-yo” joke which, we suspect, will lower the standards of this blog to a point up with which we shall not put.

We leave the Misters bickering stupidly, having forgotten, Godot-like, that there ever was a mystery concerning a trash bag, and watch the edges of the screen fuzz up and iris down smaller and smaller until they are just a flicker at the center of the ninth circle and we, strangely inverted and refreshingly turned about-face, are released from the hell of the Plastic Trash Bag Mystery!]

Plastic Trash Bag Mystery IV: Enough Already!

Dear Plastic Bag Trashy Mystery Part Whatever,

Sirs, I don’t know who you think is out here reading this drivel but this madness must stop!

Are we to be strung along stupidly over multiple episodes simply so you can profit off increasingly insipid and vacuous sequels comprised of nothing but the cheapest of movie and TV clichés?

Clearly the answer to the mystery is obvious to anyone (certainly, at least,) by the conclusion of Part Two (if not before! – Actually, I got it by about the middle of Part Two – though I by no means offer myself as a lightning rod of your average reader…)

And, frankly, your attempts to dumb-down the characters of the Misters so as to make the plot move more slowly is an insult to the finely-wrought and emotionally complex portraits you have penned of your Misters!

The only “truthiness” I find in the whole multi-parted epic is the character of Mr. Smitty himself – who mercifully avoids descending to the maudlin hi-jinks and corny delays you impose on your Misters and us,

Your faithful readers,

Anonymous (“coward” – ed.)

Paean to a Defunct-ta-tated Feline (or, Food from a dead Princess)

Like in a fairy-tale, whenever the princess dies, her cat food is given to her former owner.

And so it came to pass that when my former cat, Princess, came to the end of her days, her current owner packed up the remaining cans and sich and brought them to the Misters. Here they sit, gifts from a dead cat to haunt this mister and to perplex (perhaps) the Smitty in the form of a slightly different taste mixed into his dry food.

Mr. Manners (aka Mr. Smitty)

On the uncharacteristical politeness and patience of Mr. Smitty vis-à-vis feeding and being let in or out of the screen door:

(Let me not suggest that the smitty is in any way not polite in ALL of his social intercourse with either either of the Misters, or with others who are entertained by them.)

But it is of signal importance that the Smitty is polite in those most critical of cat businesses:

1) the letting in and out of the screen door (discussed at ((what some would say is “tedious”)) length in entry # ___ “The Precious Polite-it-tude of the Smitty viz. etc….”)

2) and the dual diurnal feedingization of the Smit-tit-tee.

(Sorry for yet another interruption in the barely-moving-forward pace of this entry, but this interruption is instigated by the Smitty hisself):

The Smitty just jumped up onto this table and looked like he was aimin’ to type something just as I was in the delicate process of pasting this material into its present location.

(For the Smitty’s forays into typing, composing, what-have-you, see entry # ___: “The Complete Works of Mr. Smitty, vol.#1” T. Mister, ed.)

“ANY-way!…”

Where was I?

Plastic Trash Bag Mystery III: Bag's End

And now, the stunning conclusion to… (echoing voice, drippy letters)

“The Plastic Trash Bag Mystery” (the real mystery is why it’s a trilogy)

The Misters stand dumbfounded. Jaws dropped to the floor with a * ker-thump! *

The Smitty has again run off frightened by a kitchen trash bag! So far the brilliant detective team of Mister & Mister have figured out the following:

“It ain’t because the bag is white, G”

“It ain’t because the bag is full, neither!”

(theoretically, then -- if I might interject and append – an empty, non-white kitchen trash bag (i.e. a bag of color) could also frighten the Smitty ((though actual tests have not been done on this.))

Pause of detective silence full of furrowed brows, ratiocination, pipe-smoking, playing of small metal rings-within-rings brain teasers, pacing, head scratching, and Styrofoam coffee cup slurping.

“Stumped, Sherlock?”

“or should you say Holmes, homey?”

“Let’s perpetrate a re-enactment, yo.”

“Wouldn’t that be kind of like entrapment?”

“Not if Mr. Smitty don’t have a lawyer to tell him so.”

“I would tell the Smitty myself! (warmly) Mr. Smitty!”

“Me too. (warmly) Mr. Smitty!”

“OK. Scratch that. I guess this will just have…

…TO BE CONTINUED !

Mr. Smit-tay, Principal Conductor

Last night while the Misters were watching a movie, the Smitty was laying on his back with all fours up and his front paws he had crossed in the air --

--as though he had frozen still for the moment in the middle of conducting a cat symphony that was happening somewhere between his head and the ceiling light convered by the japanese white paper lantern.

A choir of mewoing?

A mass for the cats whose guts went to make so many violin strings down through the ages?

Is the entire string repertoire anathema to cats? Simply unspeakable?

What does the Smitty feels when I play my Kronos CDs?

Can you tell me?

Why not? Cat gut your tongue?

Perpetratin’ in the “Upper Room”

The other morning the Smitty woke me up with his rummaging around in the general vicinity of his foods cubby.

I come out to find he’s pulled down the spray canola oil (the crunchy version of PAM) from the shelf above where his food wen’ stay. Also, the vermouth in the little spray bottle is on it side (but fortunately not hurt THANK GOD!)

Some random bottles of pills are askew or fallen but whatevahs…

I wonder if the smitty wasn’t trying to get at his food at all but was actually chasing a mouse around in the “upper room” (No’m sayin’?).

Was it a fantasy mouse? A moth? A gecko? A roach?

Plastic Trash Bag Mystery II: Mister’s got a brand new bag

Previously on “Plastic Trash Bag Mystery”…

Running and chasing music over which we see…

[action shot of the Mister carrying a full bag of trash toward camera (Mr. Smitty POV)]

[special effect re-enactment of the wind hitting the bamboo roll-up blind and making it flap up and knock the poinsettia off of the past bowl pedestal and splaying its red leaves across the black tabletop like blood (Mr. Smitty POV again)]

[Close up of hideously tacky blue pasta bowl with painted foods along its rim – which is scalloped – I mean, PLEASE!)]

Meanwhile, Voiceover: (the thinly disguised voice of This Mister doing his various accents:

“Why it gotta be White?”

“What-en them red leaves gotten to dur with it all?… and what is so all-fire tacky bout this’n here bowl?”

[shot of a white plastic trash bag careening and spinning up toward the camera (as newspapers would do in days of old and films of yore) while we hear the canned sound of anguished meows]

(end of re-cap).


This episode:

The Misters whistling happily “doo-duh-doo”

“Nothing mysterious here!”

“Ass’right. Hain’t no mysteriousnesses uppin’ here!”

“Know’m sayin’?”

“Shoots.”

(“ANY-way!)

This mister gets out a new trashbag and steps out to the porch where the Smitty (unbeknownst to him) is standing over by shoeland.
(The Misters have dialogue here but it is – as usual —irrelevant)

With one quick motion I open the bag and –

Whoosh!

--the Smitty takes off frightened!


Why is the Smitty scared of an EMPTY trash bag?

And now those dreaded words…

TO BE CONTINUED

Plastic Trash Bag Mystery, pt. 1

The Smitty is scared of the white plastic trash bags! (“why that, G? because they white?”)

This Mister was taking out the trash from under the sink and rounding the corner of the porch when Mr. Smitty saw the full trash bag and vamoosed hisself the hell outta’ there.

Ok, no problem, it’s a large object coming at him – of course he’s scared.

“No mystery there! Heh, heh.”

It’s like when the wind blows the flapping roll-up blind in over the table and knocks the poinsettia plant off of the tackily-painted pasta bowl (inverted to be its base). The crashing red leaves scare off the Smitty, too.
(“and not cuz dey be red, yo”)

(“no sir, but the tackily-pernted pasta bowl scares me plenty, I can tell u—“)

(“ANY-way…!”)

But the cats-are-scared-of-large-objects-coming-at-them scenario is NOT it: the REAL mystery is that the Smitty is scared of an …
EMPTY TRASH BAG!

(--this exciting mystery to be continued--)

Mr. Smitty and Global Warming

Mr. Smitty does NOT contribute to global warming.…unless you count his little face!

Mr. Smitty!