Fan Mail, Part II

Mister Smitty gets fan mail!
The Mail room is so overstuffed with (virtual) cards and letters, that we only open it a crack and respond to the ones that fall out the door before we can slam it shut again.
Today’s harvest includes the following queries:

Mister Smitty, is Paris burning?
Like a disco inferno, yo!
Mister Smitty, Chicken or beef?
Whatevah’s in my dish – and if not, then it’s wild game time: wee birds and mice, my favorites.
Mister Smitty, what's your opinion of RED CHINA?
“Mao!” (natch)

Training, Brah

Mister Smitty has The Misters trained!

When the Smitty goes to the door…(duh!) The Misters open it for him!

“Hey, Mister: The Smitty like go outside.”

“Shoots!” (opens door)

The Smitty, dumfounded by his luck in having found such malleable, compliant humans, pauses to drink in his good fortune. In that pause, the humans start to suspect they are being played.

“Yo, we being played up in here!”

“Damn right!”

“This buh-shee is buh-shee, no’m sayin’?”

“Mister Smitty, you be perpetratin’ us!”

But Mr. Smitty pays no attention to the incessant and pathetic whining of his human master/servants.

Who has time for that?

I Feel The Earth Move

Mr. Smitty was in an earthquake!
“What’s that shaking?”
“It’s still going.”
Like an actor in a locally-made public service TV announcement, This Mister bolted out of bed and stood in a doorway, picturing the whole house collapsing into rubble, save for the archway he was standing under.
Still, that pesky shaking.
“This is a long one.”
Finally the Smee appears, eyes wide as proverbial saucers (you know, the proverb about how saucers should be 1.56 times wider than the cups placed on them, Golden Mean, Geomancy, New-Age tarot cards, etc.) in urgent need of petting.
Heavy petting.
Which ensued.

The Diaspora, Part VI: In the End, The Smitty Gets the Girl (I mean Food)

Reunited!
(like reinstated, only mo’ bettah)
The reuniting scene re-enacted:

That Mister comes home in That Mister’s sister’s car. He spies the Smee at the top of the stairs.

“Getting out of the car, I see the Smee run down the stairs to the bottom. As I walk toward the house, he runs toward me in the grass.

“Mao!”

“I pet him” [much billing and cooing, here expunged].

“Let’s see if you have any food.”

“Once I say that, he runs to the house, darts up the porch steps and sits in front of his empty dish. Facing his dish, he turns just his head to me and

“Mao!”

“Do you want some foods?”

“Mao!” (Please, Sir, can I have some “mao”?)

Olympic Beige-ing

You know The Smitty likes to do laps!

Since many Olympic athletes do laps, we thought it only fair to enter The Smitty in any and all lap contests.

The Smitty’s strategy is a little offbeat:

after running with the best of them (and faster), The Smitty jumps onto his competitors’ laps, thus driving them from their path to the gold!

Tricky Smitty!