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!

Mr. Smitty vs. The Grasshopper

“Mr. Smeetee is playing with a grasshopper.”
(He found it in Mister’s slippahs).

“He’s petting it.”

“Checking it out, pro’ly.”

“Mister can try move the wall to let him ec-scape?”
I move the wall so a crack of railing shows. The grasshopper tries to get away, but Mister Smitt-tit-tee keeps it close, like a hand of cards.

Poor grasshopper!

The grasshopper goes away from the railing, back toward the sliding glass, and ends up between the Misters’ chairs. The Smit’ follows along or runs in front, bemused, but totally in control.

He doesn’t pet it.

He doesn’t eat it.

When I come back from answering the phone, The grasshopper is gone and Mr. Smitty has moved on to staring East as he is wont to do of an afternoon, morning, or anytime, really.

It’s where the wind’s from.

The Scoop

Sometimes when this Mister is not at his computer, The Smitty will perpetrate some cuteness or other and this Mister has to quick write it down on this little flip note pad –

… flipping the pages over like Jimmy what’s-his-name in those 1920s or 30s kid reporter movies, with the press card in their fedoras…

scrawling on the note pad and flipping them pages to “get the scoop” on Mister Smitty’s latest hijinks.

You go, Mr. Smitty. I got you covered!

Should I learn shorthand?

Should I be Mr. Smitty’s secretary?

“Mr. Smitty, sir, should I take a letter?”

Behaviorialistical

Mr Smitty is a very polite smitty!

When he wants to go in or out, he goes to the screen door and just sits. He doesn’t look around for a dumb human to hurry up and catch on (“Hel-LO!”). He doesn’t mew and miaoux or yip. He doesn’t walk in little circles...figure 8’s actually, Cats seems to walk the infinity sign when they are waiting for a bus or for some dumb human to -- “Hel-LO!!” – figure out that they would like very much now to be attended to, thank you very much.

The Help these days, please!

The Smitty’s polite Door behavior is the result of:

a) his ability to hide his disdain in politeness

b) his immense gratitude for being taken in in the first place
(this is The Misters’ favorite choice)

c) his naturally polite, well-balanced, calm personality/age

d) genuine perplexification with the mysteries of the door itself

e) other? (fill in your response)

Enchanted

Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

MISTER SMITTY!


Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

MISTER SMITTY!


Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

MISTER SMITTY!


Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!
Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty!

MISTER SMITTY!

Too much i’ the sun

In the morning, Mr. Smit-tit-tee likes to go out to the uncovered part of the porch and lie in the sun. As the sun moves across the stairs, Mr. Smitty gets up and keeps moving into it until there’s no more sun on the stairs or until the Smitty gets too hot and has to retreat into the covered porch where The Misters are having their coffee and such.

“Mister Smity like to be in the sun.”

“Mister, he does.”

“Like That Mister.”

“Mister.”

“Mister and Mister Smitty like to sit in the sun in the morning.”

“Mister, we do. Right, Mr. Smitty?”

White-Out

Mr. Smitty is in his bed!

Mr. Smitty likes his bed. He likes to clean hisself in his bed and he likes to lie in it with all his littl’ feets tucked up under his chin and his tail there too – and sometimes just the very tip of his tail lifts slightly in a little drowsy-kine wag.

Mr. Smitty!

That’s when I can kiss all the Smitty’s feets, and cheek, and tail -- all at the same time with one kiss! Mr. Smitty!

The Misters like it when Mr. Smitty is in his bed because then he’s not perpetratin’ That Mister’s chair – and because Mr. Smitty looks cute in his bed because it’s made of white shag carpet-kine stuffs and it matches the Smitty who is all white, too!

Collar Questioning

The M: Mr. Smitty, Mr. Smitty, Mr. Smitty: Do you remember your red collar?

Mr.S: (quiet eyes)

The M: Did you stash it somewhere?

Mr.S: (looks away)

The M: Did you reject it because it was all synthetical?

Mr.S: (still looking away, right ear flaps)

The M: Did you hook it on something so you could get rid of it?

Mr.S: (still; no flapping)

The M: Aha! We’re getting somewhere. Did you get it hooked on something and have to get out of it in order to free yoh-salfe, Mr. Smitty?

Mr.S: (playing his cards close to his chest, as always)

The M: Was the Smitty in mortal dangers? Did the Smitty barely make it out alive? Was the Smitty a heroical Smitty?

Mr.S: (quiet eyes, letting the human express what it needs to)

The M: O Mister Smitty! (hugs the Smitty)

Collar

Now that The Misters are plunged into the Should-Mr.Smitty-have-a-flea-collar Crisis, it has made This Mister remember something: At one time in his early days with The Misters, Mr. Smitty HAD A COLLAR!

It was red, made of cloth like those white cloth belts we had in the 70’s with the two chrome-colored rings you’d loop the belt through? (kind of like the Boy Scouts belts -- ‘cept they were khaki, know-what-I’m-sayin’? yeah…yeah.) But Mr. Smitty’s red collar was all synthetical and shiny like the new belts you get today with the chrome rings but are not made of dull cotton anymore but are plasticky and all multi-colored and…
“ANY-way!”

What happened to that red collar?

I’ll ask Mr. Smitty!

First Flea

Mr. Smitty has a flea!

Today I discovered the first-ever flealike critter on Mister Smit. T.T.’s right ear (outside, not on the inside). I say “flealike” because I don’t remember the last time I saw a flea…

No. I’m lying: I remember dog fleas on Koa. They were huge, puffed-up, distended (a word I mostly associate with hemorrhoids). When his owners were away, I had to pick them off of him and squish them with my nails. Gross! (But like all gross things, once you get used to it, you become immune to the grossness – you become an insider to it, an initiate to its gross mysteries.) Mr. Smitty is the opposite of gross.

“ANY-way…”

Mr. Smitty’s lone flea was a slender black speck of a thing – I thought it was a speck until, in trying to comb it out of his hair, I saw that it was moving!

Should I get Mr. Smitty a collar?

The First Time I Saw the Smitty

Actually, I actually saw the Smitty one time before he became my Smitty. I was closing up the theater and when I went to look in the Green Room, there was the Smitty lying on a blue mover’s-kine towel-thingee on top of the new washer we hadn’t installed yet.
The Smitty (not his name at that time) got up in a tired way with this look in his eyes like,

“you’re not going to really make me leave on a cold night like this, are you? “

It’s funny, cause I remember not moving – so as not to frighten the Smitty or alarm him – to let him know, I guess, that I could see he was all settled in for the night and not hurting anyone. It was sweet: my first encounter with the Smitty found me to be a kindly Mister.

Plus, I guess I thought he might catch a mouse or two that was plaguing the building at the time!

Meeting the Smitty Halfway

My Kaho’olawe wife is always ak-sing me about how the Smitty is doing. (She gave us the Smitty in the first place because it was perpetratin’ her office and she wanted it to have a home).

“How’s Mr. Smitty?” (sometimes she says it in a british accent)

“He’s great!

Then there’s always this pause – like, “give me some details, tell me a story” – so I talk about how whenever the Misters come back in the truck, the Smitty comes down the stairs and halfway out across the lawn and waits for the Misters. And he makes a couple of “mebs” sounds – just a couple.

Then, when the Misters get to him, he RUNS back up to the porch and waits by the door (even though we put his food outside when we leave for long periods). Such a funny Smitty!

“He is like a good a loyal dog!” said The Mister.

“Except dogs don’t just stand there in your way and make you go around them,” said The Mister.

“Shoots!”

Songs That Have Secret Lyrics About Mr. Smitty

The Misters like to sing songs to Mister Smitty by perpetratin’ the words like this:

(To be sung to the tune of “Take a Chance on Me” by ABBA:)

“Mister Smit-tit-tee, Mister Smit-tit-tee,
Mister Smit-tit-tee, Mister Smit-tit-tee,
Mister Smit-tit-tee-tee-tee, Mister Smit-tit-tee,
Mister Smit-tit-tee-tee-tee, Mister Smit-tit-tee!

When you’re all alone with a Smit-tit-tee,
Mr. Smitty says, Take a chance on Smitty”

Another good one from an ABBA song is:

“Smit-tit-tee-ta, You and I know –
La-la-la-la, la-la, la-la-la;

Mmm-mm-mm, mm-mm,
Sing a new song, Smit-tit-tee-ta”

Ok, that’s not as good. Whattevahs!!!

Mister Smitty the Hunter

Mister Smitty was adventurizing just now in the tall grass. You could only see his ears, the top of his head, and his tail – until he was jumping and cavorting and going into his hunting moves and stillnesses. The Smitty dropped down so you could only see his ears and then –

He Popped up and
Pounced on something
– chonch mouse kine-thing …
“ANY-way!!”
Mister Smitty is a hunter-smitty!
Good Smitty!

Which Brush is Best?

The Misters talk about their three cat brushes:

This Mister: This Mister got to brush Mr. Smitty today in the morning. This Mister used the old-kine-style cat brush with the tiny-kine tines (mo’bettah for brush, yah?)

That Mister: The other one works good, too. Shoots!

This Mister: Mister’s sister’s brush?

That Mister: Shoot!

This Mister: Shoot!

That Mister: Has Mister used the net glove-thingee yet?

This Mister: Mister, I scared aw-ready. Has Mister?

That Mister: Shoot. Once or twice.

This Mister: Mister, it’s weird.

That Mister: It works though. Shoots!

Mr. Smitty vs. Mr. Wilson

The charming Mr. Wilson –“Chonch dog!” said That Mister-- was perpetratin’ the Smitty with his barkings and circlings of The Misters’ house. The Smitty had to repair to the top of the fridge and sit bug-eyed all day!

This Mister said,“The bad dog should be spanked!” That Mister agreed: “Chonch-ass dog…”

Later The Smitty layed hisself on Mister’s side of the bed so he could look out the window and be safe from the charmingly – chonch! – Mr. Wilson. The Bad Lady finally called her dog –“Bebi? Bebi! Bebi!” (“Chonch-i! Chonch-i!") and put him in his pen so the Smitty could come out to the porch and watch the bad dog from his safe perch. Good Mister Smitty!

Truckin'

When This Mister went to buy stuffs, the Smitty trotted out to halfway between the house and the Mister’s truck and watched the Mister drive away. The Smitty’s head kept following the truck all the way out past the rock wall where the Mister couldn’t see the Smitty anymore. The Smitty is a smart smitty!

What does the Smitty think the truck is?

When the Mister comes back from his adventures sometimes the Smitty climbs up onto the truck’s roof and hood – the Smitty can feel that it’s warm and smell the truck’s truckiness all gassy and oily and hot rubber-kine smells that are fun for a Smitty to smell!

Mr. Smitty is a smart detective-smitty!

Mr. Smitty’s Bed

Mister Smitty likes his bed!

In the beginning we got the cat bed from Mister’s sister but the Smitty would always sleep in the Misters’ bed or perpetrate that Mister’s chair when the Mister would get up.

But when Mister Smitty perpetrates that Mister’s chair, that Mister picks the Smitty up and puts him in the Smitty’s bed. Sometimes he stays there for a long time – sometimes he climbs right out. But more and more the Smitty goes to his bed of his own accord, so that means Mister Smitty likes his bed!

That’s a good Smitty!