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!]