Product Placement Alert!

Dear Sirs,

Scabrous!

To see the pristine pages of your blog besmirched by the lowest form of product placement. How Tawdry!

Please cancel my subscription/RSS feed/Bookmark/Whatever. Though I suppose I could do that myself, I shan’t! No more effort! I will cut you off at the knees: I will simply NOT READ your blog! I will kill you with malign neglect!

Have a nice day,
Name Withheld

Statues of Imitations

Own your own Mr. Smitty Statue!

Option #1: “The Sphinx” or “Mister Sphinxy”

Front legs completely stretched out in front of him, head up, eyes closed, back feet hunched as in Egyptian original (please consult off-site sources, i.e., your own memory).

Option #2: “Sleeping Sphinxy”

Same as the above except Mister Sphinx lays his head on his outstretched arms. This model is also known around the factory as the “flying caped crusader smitty.”

[end catalogue; please return to living]

Turn of the Sentry

Mister Smitty has guard duty!

Perched atop his wee marble table (replicas available by clicking “Link$”), The Smitty watches the southwestern approach to his crack house!

[for a compleat (read: tedious) explanation of why a garden outcropping of rocks has been dubbed “Mr. Smitty’s Crack House,” please descend to the second (basement) floor of the archives, turn left, and wish yourself “good luck.”]

The Smitty is a good sentry, always on the alert. If you call his name, he snaps to attention.

“Mister, that’s good.”

“Mister, that is. He provides homeland security for his crack house.”

“Which must be defended at all costs from enemies of the (e)state.”

Re: Laps Part II: “a lap is lazily…”

In Lap Theory #2, the distinguished geologist Lapis “The Rock” Lapidus

-- emeritus of Lappland University in Northern Worehverr and the world’s leading expert on the white-out effect of snow on reindeer --

posits that the Smitty’s lap fixation is a misguided form of having mistaken his own fur for snow. Thus, the Smitty is desperately seeking the life-giving heat emanating from a Mister’s lap.

Re: laps Part I: Laps in Judgment

Mister Smitty is a lap monster!

“The Smitty just love them laps! Soon’s he sees a lap appear, he’s down wi’ dat!”

Lap Theory #1

In the 1st Lap Theory (often called the Proto- or Pre-lapsarian Theory), The Smitty’s motive in “doing laps” is to hold down unruly Misters who tend to wander like amateur actors across a stage. This is also called the “Herding Cats” theory (as it is applied, counter-intuitively, to cats herding humans -- as opposed to the vice-versa).

Time Band-aids

The Smitty lives in slow motion!
The Smitty’s slowness means that he sees the Misters as very fast-moving
“And fast-speaking,” chimes in That Mister.
“Our words and songs are like a buzzing to him,” adds This Mister.
“Or the Chipmunks Christmas album, yo,” That Mister re-chimed hisself.
The Smitty is a slow cat who likes to settle in for a good long time on a lap.
“And he can’t be having that lap up and get up every hour!”

Dig it!

Mr. Smitty has found his old litterbox!

Underneath the house lies Ye Olde Litterbox of Aloyishius P. Smittee,

distinguished ancestor…

(Actually, Youse-Truly never remembered to throw it out.)

The Smitty was not actually seen steppin’ foot in there (despite doctored tabloid photos to the contrary now in wide circulation); he was just spied prowling the purlieus of same.

“See? He’s a nostaligical smitty!”

“Getting’ in touch with his roots, yo.”

“An archema-logistical smitty.”

“He’s an hysterical-preservationist!”

A Trendy Smitty

Mister Smitty is ahead of the curve!

The Smitty is the most fashionable, the trend-setting smitty par excellence.

“Why that Smitty not sleepin’ up in his bed no moh?”

“He sleepin’ on the robe, yo.”

Next week:

“Why that Smitty not sleepin’ up on my robe no moh?”

“He sleepin’ on the back of de couch, yo.”

Next week:

See what I mean? The Smitty is so avant-garde that the garde ain’t even built yet that can handle his train coming, yo.

Detective Smee’s Diary Part IV: Goin’ Noir Fast

“’Cup of coffee!’

(for them)

“’Cocktails at…’

(for them)

“Meanwhile, I’m still on the beat, taking the notes, getting it down, scrawling my notes in the well, it’s not a pad and pencil but with my claws on the ground or lightly tracing notes in the air – but it’s all being taken down in the Akhasic records, no’m sayin’?

“Like Atlantic records, ya dig? Only worldwide – and for all time.

[Ed.’s note: the Akhasic records, not an R&B joint out of Motown, contains every thought uttered or thunk by every living thing through all time. To give you some perspective on its size and the sheer volume of uselessness it contains, think of all the entries to this blogsite -- and then subtract a few hundred thousand pages.]

Detective Smee’s Diary Part III: Ca(n’)t Get Good He(l)p These Days

“Got to get me a bettah view. Climb up on the monolith – Damn! If only I could climb its sheer face!

(one of those Misters could lift me up to the top. I mean, they feed me, but please! So needy!)

“So in need of the… petting! The loving! The ‘hands-on’ stuff.

“It’s smothering!

“I told my analyst about it but she says they’re just like that.”

“Meanwhile, them Sun-nappers have gotten away again! I’ll have to pick up the trail again tomorrow after my Sun bath.”

Detective Smee’s Diary Part II: How’d ya like to Bet, Noir?

“7 PM: Sunset has loosened its siren song hold on me and I am free to nose.

“The Quiet Number at the end of the bar beckons, but I’m on a case: the case deals with a mysterious disappearance – the disappearance of the Sun!

“I jump to the flower box closest to where the sun was last seen. It’s full of green plants The Misters consider somewhat important – but not much, since I rest there often [ed.’s note: The Smitty refers to arugula that The Misters still have hope to recover for harvest].

“Who’d take the sun – and why? And why is it dumped back on the docks every morning to warm my plenteous folds?”

Detective Smee’s Diary Part I: Crepuscule a Smitty

Mr. Smitty is a good detective smitty!

Part One: Quayside, 5 PM

“Late Afternoon: I’ve scarfed down a “Mister’s Special” (the Usual) at the Glass Dish & Marbles (my regular dish) and have run off to preen, digest, snarf down a couple of blades of grass (for the teeth), and maybe – if I’m feeling frisky – cavort!

“There’s a past 4 o’clock kind of air to the day and that may mean some serious nesting in week-old tall grass for a boddhi-licious sunset and metabolical slow-to-a-crawl meditation of which we crepuscular types are wont to dig, ya dig?”

Aunty Gravi-Smee

Mr. Smitty is an anti-gravismitty! (cf. previous (tedious)…viz., etc.)

He can tumble and jump and cavort! His claws are anti-gravitimational devices that allow him to hang precariously, climb avocado trees, and attempt – as he is recently
wont to do – to climb on the backs of moths in flight --

-- before consuming them (as a horse d’oover)!

Smitty Heat

“It’s the Heat. The Heat, the Heat, the Heat!”

Perhaps you know that group the Blackeyed Smees (surgically mended in Brazil double-digits)?

Well, that’s what the Smitty is singing these days as he moves from ‘neath one garden table to t’other. Nestled in the long un-weed-whacked grasses that form a curtain of protectionation from the sun, The Smee snoozes… until Noon with her brassy fingers pokes The Smee into having to up’n decamp.

“O, the felinity!” decries The Smee.

Saint Smeet

Like other figures to whom worshippers flock for aid, comfort, and miraculous healing,
Saint Smeet, Patron Saint of Licking Youself Clean, Our Lady (Man [“it” actually – ed.]) of Perpetual Cuteness, Protector of the Restless of Leg, Healer of the Contusions Caused by Seatbelt Shoulder Straps,
receives pilgrims at his holy precincts (sort of to the left of the Crack House) most middays.

Doctor Smitty

Mr. Smitty is a good doctoring Smitty!

But, like most doctors, he’s booked weeks ahead, requires a referral if you have any hope of having his visit covered by your insurance H(o)MO, and is careful not to do anything that might bring on a malpractice against he-self.

The Smitty’s treatment, as you know from previous (tedious) entries, consists of his lying on top of one’s self at precisely the place he deems worthy of his warming (and purring) properties.

While some may question the location of the Smitty’s ministrations (causing a Mister to wonder if he is dis-eased up in dere but didn’t know it), such miraculous, intuitive results have occurred in the past that The Smitty’s treatments have won much adulation amongst The Misters.

The Yo Smee Ching

Check it:

The Smitty that is known is not the true Smitty

(no’m say’n’?)

The Smitty that I can tell ya’ll boot is not the most up-to-datest, Smitty, G.

The Smitty that you can talk to is not the Smitty what axed you to come here, yo.

The Smitty is the motha of all smitties, his peeps, subsidiaries, and assigns, et al.

Verily I say unto yo: You desire to see the Smitty’s essence, but your desire makes you only able to get a peep into his crib.

These (aforesaid cribs) are in the same place but different addresses, a’ight?

And where that all go down, is a mystery, ya dig?

Nuff said!

Mr. Xmi Te

Mr. Xmi Te, ancient Chinese philosophical smitty, spends much of the afternoon contemplating our sunset hours.

Face turned to that dizzily hurrying orb (now finally slowed to an orangy glide), Mr. Xmi Te reviews the prefecture’s receipts, brushes his doorstep, and recalls, drunkily, old drunken friends.

What is that distant clamor of swords clashing?

Will the soldiers come home before I am too blind to see, too deaf to hear them?

Have they come already? And am I gone?

Sunset.

Bathroom Rumor

Mister Smitty likes the bathroom!

(In the First Days, S.E. (Smitty Era) he had a litterbox in there.)

Now, this vestigal litterbox fascination drives him into the bathroom, where he is wont to visit the shower.

We believed at first that it had to do with a thirst for water (since we caught the Smitty checking out that recent bestseller, Your Body’s Craving for Water).

But we’re now convinced that it’s deeper: it’s pee-sych-o-malogical!

Mr. Smitty vs. The Monolith Part II: Wombs within rooms

The Smitty runs behind the monolith and sneak-attacks it.

(This, the Smitty believes, will cause fear and trembling and general unrest in the monolith’s stonily-singular soul.)

He has jumped into the recycled newspaper box and has scratched the side of the box as though he is re-enacting childhood memories of a litter box.

“No, Yo: He’s re-enactifying childhood memories of that little box you make for the mamma cat when she’s going to have her kittens and the kittens stay in the box for a few days until they are strong enough to climb out of it.”

“Perhaps, Yo. Yet I believe this may hearken back to the proto-scratching first fisted in the womb.”

“You is quite possibly right, Yo.”

“What’s the Smitty digging for?”

“Memories, my dearest yo; memories of that first room.”

Mr. Smitty vs. The Monolith Part I: Also Spinach Zat-a-threw-at-ya

Mr. Smitty is going to get the monolith!

[ed.’s note: the “monolith” is Mister-slang for the multi-compartmented, human-heighted, orange-painted, twitter-pated shelving unit that dominates The Misters’ porch (and, upon which, the Smitty has sniffed out the members of the Rodentus Big’ngrossus family).]

And now back to our story…

“Mister, The Smitty is watching the monolith very carefully these days.”

“Mister, he is.”

He jumps into the flower box, crushes the arugula, and sits for minutes totally still, staring up toward the top shelf of the monolith.

“He’s sussing out the monolithic sitch-a-tion, G.”

Fleeced ‘N Flummoxed

Mister Smitty is a master of illusion!

He has successfully created the illusion of being a cat.

The Misters – miserable patsies -- fleeced, swindled, completely taken in, lament their gull-ability

“He gone ‘n fooled us, foo!”

“Who you callin’ ‘foo’?”

“Us.”

“Why?… How?…When?… and, uh…

“ ‘Where?’”

“You got it!”

“Well, to answer your questions in order: Here. Now. Because we’re stupid and because he can.”

“Oh. In that case, I guess…”

“You guess what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Smitty, What’s your Haiku?

Full moon –

Crazy Smitty;

Not just frisky –

But farting!

Goodbye Whitey

Sad news...but a peep of Mr. Smitty passed away this week: Miss Whitey.

Whitey was a wonderful smitty!!! Found on the side of the road in January of '95, Whitey lived to be 15.

Now she gets to be reunited with her sisters Red Girl and Cocaty. We love you and we'll miss you!!!

Here's how it transpired:

"Whitey passed away early this morning. I had brought her into the house yesterday. We layed on the couch together and watched tv last night. She slept on the couch last night and the kids and I found her this morning.

It was sad, but this last 2 weeks has been really rough. I've been telling Whitey for the last week that if she's tired, it's ok for her to go and be with Red Girl and Cocaty. That' she's been a good girl and that Luckitty will be ok.

I have especially been preparing myself for this after I called and made the vet appt. I'm actually so relieved and happy for her to finally be rid of her tired, old body and to be young and healthy again and playing with her sisters.

We buried her this morning, after the kids left, under the mango tree on the other side of the back fence. Right next to Red Girl! :) It was a beautiful, sunny morning today... just the kind of day that she liked to lay out on the porch and soak in the sunshine."

Goodbye Whitey!

Smee TV

Mister Smitty watches the TV!

When the Misters are sitting on their couch watching a movie, the Smitty is wont to join them by perching on the armrest. Like the Misters, he aims his head in the general direction of the idiot box.

But the Smitty doesn’t watch because the TV has no smell.

(So why stare at it so much – no’m sayin’?)

The Smitty needs Smell TV – a cable niche-network: 634 channels of different smells (the hottest are on paw-per-view. Titles like: “Alley Cat’s Bum” and “Kitty Heat”). Of course every smitty loves reruns of “Cat Woman” and “Rat Patrol.”
Cat Business shows are popular, too: LBI: Litter Box Investigators and the all-time favorite,

“Claw and Odor.”

Missing Misters

The Smitty, of late (I mean, at night) has been projecting his face in the night sky by means of a huge search light.

Actually, he doesn’t do the wielding, he has his peeps for that.

Instead, The Smitty gets reports and barks his “Mao!s” from deep inside the nerve center he’s set up in the Find the Lost Misters Headquarters.

Perhaps you’ve seen those “Reward! Missing Cat” signs posted to poles?

The Smiity has made some to help him find those pesky Misters who disappear for WAY longer than the Smitty’s 10-second attention span and, so, become irretrievably lost (in his mind).

Except his signs don’t have a photo of the Misters; they work through odorama: The Smitty rubs that part of his flaxen flanks (which contain the smell of a Mister’s leg or hand) onto the poster so that any cat might sense the scent and report back in.

Necking

Mister Smitty likes to stretch his neck!

Like a mannerist Smitty (cf. The Smitty of the Long Neck, by Giamthirsti Forasotti), the Smitty enjoys laying and LOLling and stretching his neck out to rest his Adam’s Apple on any convenable surface (a Mister’s leg, the arm of a chair, whatevahs), fold his front leg forward at the wrist, and create one long flat plane of hisself from nose to perineum (where, yes, his nose it often sniffs).

Mannerist Watch: [interrupting this blog to quell restlessly squirming art-history majors] “Despite the above-mentioned attenuations, the Smitty has not (as of yet) engaged in other Mannerist © elongations and disturbations of proper perspective.”

[O Madonna! – ed.]

Mister Smitty, C.S.O.

Mister Smitty has been promoted!

Due to the overwhelming number of response(s) to this blogsite – and the crowds clamoring outside the doors of our executive offices -- The Smitty has been kicked upstairs.
(This -- according to executive spokesperson, Peter Principle -- also means The Smitty has jumped a pay grade (or two). But Principle took pains to clarify that no actual, physical “jumping” had occurred).

The new Executive in Charge of Smittyness -- who shall add vice, condescend, and sit on the board (‘s laps) – shall assume the title (said Principle) of C. S. O.
(Chief Smitty Officer)

Project Runaway

Mister Smitty is a model!

After a hard day posing, all the Smitty wants is a “j’accuse!”-y and a G&T (Groin & Toe-licking).

Whole minutes were spent on the business end of the cellphone camera, enduring The Misters’ “catcalls:”

“Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister Smitty, Mister –“ CLICK!

Meanwhile The Smitty thinks:

“Yo, where’s my cat comb?” CLICK! “Can I get some water over here?” CLICK! “Where’s that girl with my cucumber-and-mouse-viscera sandwiches?” CLICK!

Human Discourse is Coarse of Course

“I don’t need to hear that!”

--thinks the Smitty to hisself.

Human Conversation – I mean, please! Talking about whether mosquitoes are attracted to light the way moths are:

“Because maybe that yellow anti-insect bulb isn’t for moths but for other insects.”

“Mister, maybe.”

“But they still seek you out in the dark in bed.”

“Mister, I guess it’s…”

[At this point, the Smitty is so frustrated by human discourse (and intercourse) that, when asked, The Smitty thinks:

“Those humans! So Slow! It’s like watching them figure out for the first time that 2+2=mouse.”]

Video Smee, Our Radiant Star

Mister Smitty has a video!

Let’s read the box, shall we?

“Watch the Smitty sleep: a calming experience for you and yours, playing as a background. You’ve seen videos of a fire in the fireplace? By which, openly, chestnuts roast? Enjoy hours of sleeping Smee-dom on your TV. Purrr-fect!

“Extra features include a complete 4-hour commentary by The Misters about the framing and composition of every shot, working with the talent, jokes about the Smitty at the craft service tables, rumors and gossip shared in the Smitty’s make-up trailer, interviews with Cameramen, Script Girls, and Keys Grip.

Check out the Blooper Reel where the Smitty does crazy things like wake up, lick hisself, or run out of frame!”

Book Cat-alog

Mister Smitty books we’d like to see:

Mister Smitty’s Advice to Humans
Excerpt: “Guests may be confused by your home’s lay-out. To orient them, gently rub yourself against their legs.”

Mister Smitty’s Holiday Hosting Guide
Excerpt: “Nothing breaks the ice like plopping yourself down in the middle of the room, lifting your back leg straight to heaven, and commencing to lick your crotch.”

Punchin’ the Clock

Mister Smitty has regular hours!

Visions of the Smee, hardhatted, shuffling along behind behatted others, lunchbox in paw, to slip his time card in to be punched…
Like clockwork, the Smitty is here at _____ and gone at ____ and back precisely at _____ to leave again at _____.

[We would very much like to disclose the actual hours – but our legal team advises against so particular a disclosure, in accordance with the TMI act (Too Much Information)]

Thus, this post is, though well-meaning, less than informative.

Mr. Anti-GraviSmitty

Mr. Smitty is an anti-gravity Smitty!

(an anti-gravismitty!)

He can jump from the desk (indoors) to the top of shoeland (outdoors) and never touch the ground. Thus, the Smitty has two ways to get hisself through that vexifying screen door
(cf. previous (tedious) blogs concerning the philosophical conundrum (from the Smitty’s point of view) of the screen door’s being, paradoxically, closed and yet smells open).
Of course he does the usual cat-trick of climbing the screen to get on top -- but that’s an old trick that he can only trot out rarely now for fear of causing general yawning amongst The Misters.

Uppity Couch!

If The Misters’ couch ever takes a notion to up’n vamoose itself out the door, down the hill, aiming to thumb itself a ride, well… it sure as shoot won’t be on Mr. Smitty’s watch!

“Whoa, couch must be settin’ to move.”

“Get the couch, Mr. Smitty! Get it!”

“Mister Smitty’s a-got his’n claws on the corner of the couch. He ain’t lettin’ go!”

“He a-gonna get that couch!”

“Mister Smitty’s got that couch by the short hairs and won’t let go.”

“Tell ‘em who’s boss, Mr. Smee.”

“That couch ain’t goin’ nowhere, yo!”

Shower Scene

Mr. Smitty likes the shower!

Lickable fresh water all over the place -- like a waterbowl that just goes on and on! Cool, lickable walls, too, that echo and reinforce smell and sound. HABAS – not into all that. “I don’t do that. I’m clean.”

“What’s that noise?”

“Sounds like the towel rack jiggling.”

“Mr. Smitty, are you done in the shower? Are you using my towel? You can.”

Plato’s (refrigerated) Cave

Mister Smitty is a philosophical smitty!
He stares at the fridge at mealtime.
Does he know that his wet food comes from the fridge?

Sitting and staring at it, he feels the door open and the cold air blast out at him, then close. He understands that radically abrupt change in temperature.

But now, staring at it, I wonder if he’s wondering about the fridge the way we wonder about God.
Mr. Smitty is a philosophisti-cat!

VaCATion

Mister Smitty took a vacation!

After much twitter-pating (but not in Twitter), The Smee vamoosed for higher ground in an attempt to vacation-ize himself.

"Mister, where that Smee at?"

"Mister, shoots."

"Did he go on a wee vacation? I see a big-'ol 18-and-a-half-minute-type gap in his blog entries."

"Perhaps he pressed <> and vacated himself that way."

Sneaky Smitty.

Enigma Variations Part III: Taking a little cat-map

Sirs,

The photos of your (putative) “cat,” too, when carefully blown up, reveal hidden maps that correspond exactly to places in Iran, Iraq, and, most curiously, Wilkes-Barre, Pa. (on this we are still pondering).

Please respond (in writing) to the issues enumerated herein in preparation for our site visit to your website.

Yours,

Department of Home-made Security

Enigma Variations Part II: What, er, supply?

Sirs,

Even un-decoded, your cat’s listed activities seem to indicate a plan for dissemination of your coded directives to a sleeper cell of intimates, code-named Mister Smitty’s “peeps.”

Postings about The Smitty’s water-drinking preferences – endless and preposterous if taken literally – can only logically be understood as code for designs on our water supply.

And what are we to make of those ever-shadowy figures, the vaguely-named “Misters” who seem to do The Smitty’s bidding as though they were interchangeable flunkies?

Enigma Variations Part I: An Enigma Wrapped Inside of a Condom

Sirs,

It has come to our attention that your website “blog” has far too many hits for one ostensibly about “a cat.”

Formal legal proceedings (in the works) notwithstanding, we must surmise that postings are not about “The Smee” and his “adventurizing” but are, in fact, coded messages.

A statistical analysis of random selections of your “texts” reveals (when numerical values are assigned to letters in a standard code formula) the following disturbing decoded messages:

“I racked up a huge debt”

“I ran to telephone.”

“Is real or not?”

Memory Laps

Mister Smitty practices a specific, strategic lap strategy!

When The Misters went for two nights to another island, the Smitty, of course, decided they were lost. He offered his backside and scent repeatedly upon their return to help them reorientate and regain their sense of place.

But those pesky Misters continued to stray, leaving the homestead for hours on end in what must have been lost confusion.

Thus the Smitty has taken to sitting on The Misters’ laps when they perch. This is clearly the Smitty’s way of squelching any wanderlust in The Misters!

Pre- Laps-arean

Mister Smitty likes to do laps!

How many laps a day does Mr. Smitty do?

Let’s count:

In the morning he likes to jump into That Mister’s lap for an early morning (or late morning, or both) session.

At the end of the day --

(and I don’t mean figuratively, in a catch-phrasey way, because, at the end of day, I am so totally over that, but literally around 10:00 PM)

-- The Smee stretches out in This Mister’s lap while he watches his forengi films.

Good Smitty!

Boddhicatva

Mister Smitty is the Buddha incarnate.

(Obviously, each cat owner feels his or her cat is the source of buddhistical revelations and life lessons – and, to some degree, this is true --)

But the Smitty is clearly The One.

And yo(u) can read about it in “My Cat is a Total Buddh(a)head” just published by Mister Smitty Press (just click on the “Good Buy$” link).

Inside, you will find such wisdoms as:

“’OM’ is the intake of energy of which the cat’s ‘Mao’ is the expressing.”

All of this illustrated in faux Ming ink drawings. So sumi!

Got Cribs?

“Yo! Pimp my crib!”

Welcome to Mister Smitty’s super-clandestine (“Secret Club”) new crib, Yo’s!

You are seeing secret select pix of the new location (super-undisclosed) of Mister Smitty’s fresh crib!

Talk about “early-adapters”? Mr. Smitty is the Raptor of Early Adapters, yo.

No’m sayin’?

Crip Cribs

Mister Smitty is an “early adapter.”

The Smee is one of the few cutting-edge types who move the culture forward.

Here’s how:

The Smee is always ahead of the curve when it comes to where to sleep. Talk about boutique hotels! The Smitty has them beat – he DISCOVERS new locations, like—

[At this point the author discusses the most recent (i.e. “current,” “trendy,” “now-ish”) location of The Smitty’s crib, which, at press time, The Smitty’s handlers were in a tizzy about disclosing.

Stay tuned. –ed.]

Skull and Tomes

Mr. Smitty’s skull is very skullacious!

Viewed from the side, The Smitty has a deep, “deep cover” smile that wraps up the side of his head in obscene proportions (excess of joy).

Such a rictus puts one in mind of the Sphinx – and, thus, of Baudelaire’s immor(t)al poem “Les Chats”

Which, judging by the lengths to which this entry has been stretched already, shall have to appear in a later installment.

Merde!

Legal Entanglements and the Computer

Jeff will poke at the keyboard in the most lackadaisical way as though he weren’t interested in representing The Smitty’s interests at all!

Often Twinkles (Jeff’s secretary) will find her distinguished lawyer boss curled up under the side table (by his food dish) – or worse: jumping at the windows trying to capture random moths. For this we pay $144 per hour?

Gross indecency!

Meanwhile, The Smitty’s future blogs, waiting to be expurgated and rendered beige for web consumption, gather cat hair under Jeff’s paws.

We hope this helps to explain why there’s such a backlog in the pipeline.

Wait till you read the one about the election (of 2000)!

Mister Smitty’s Legal Team

Mr. Smitty’s lawyers are (excuse us) a lazy bunch!

The backlog of info ready to slide out of here into the world about The Smitty (trucks are waiting, beeping softly)…

But them lawyers!

Mr. Smitty has – understandably, for a cat – engaged legal representation from members of HIS OWN KIND. Thus, the sense of what constitutes a “day’s work” is, in human terms, sorely lacking.

The Smitty’s lawyer, Jeff:

“Twinkles, dollface, send me that file on Mr. Smitty. Miaou.”

But when Twinkles checks back 6 hours later, Jeff is curled up asleep on Mr. Smitty’s file!

Missing: The Misters!

Mister Smitty was on his own recognizance for two whole nights!

(while The Misters visited Smudge’s mom on another island).
What did the Smitty do to amuse-ificate hisselfs?
Party with his peeps (stand on two legs, brandish a champagne flute, etc)?
Establish relations with the new (post-Esai) tenants “south of the border”?
If you have knowledge (or footage) of the Smitty’s whereabouts during this period, please contact this blog immediately!

You’ve Been Upgraded!

“And for those guests staying in our most luxurious accommodations, you may avail yourselves of a pet cat for the duration of your stay.
Patient, kind, friendly to all ages, Mister Smitty will jump into your lap, sleep, roll over, display his stomachs for scratchings, and purr (but never whine).
See Reception for the Mister Smitty upgrade.”

Tape Delay

It has come to the attention of this blogsite that there are stirrings of dissent (gripes) about the delay (lag time) between actual occurrences in The Smitty’s life and when they show up on this website.

Dear Reader! Rest assured that we at Mr. Smitty’s executive offices are at pains to narrow that gap (roughly 18 ½ minutes) so that you are party to the freshest developments possible, etc…[as per our lawyers instructions – ed.]

Actually, the whole “delay” problem is caused by our lawyers. The vetting of the Smee’s cavorting –and trying to get his wayward peeps to sign release forms so their images can be used in films, Christmas specials, and on coffee mugs, playing phone tag with their publicists, etc.

– is as tiresome and drawnout as reading back entries of this blog!

Chief Detective Smitty

The Smitty is a shrimp detective.

The scene: a plate of shrimp. The Smitty: nosing up the air randomly (“something up, yo!”)

Once the nose finds its groove, the Smitty follows it in cool, hunkered down pursuit – his body an elaborate delivery system designed to support the needs of his nose.

This Mister moves the plate of shrimp. The Smitty turns, heads off as though he smells other bid’ness…

--only to sneak up onto the porch railing (all roundabout and circling back like) to come at that plate of shrimp from above!

Sneaky Smitty!

Beach Blanket Bingeing

Mister Smitty likes to clean!

In preparing the seasonal shift on the lanai to the “Winter Palace” format, This Mister took the seagrass mat down to the croquet pitch (between the Crack House and the Fire Pit) and bleached it (like ol’ Odysseus hosing down his killing floor of suitor gore).

Mr. Smitty immediately plopped himself down on the mat as I slathered the bleach. Perhaps he likes the smell? Perhaps it gets him high?

When I had to flip the mat over, he clung to it and flipped right over hisself. He got right back on it again and re-blissed himself.

Es-cat-ology

Mister Smitty, if you were having a dinner party, what 7 individuals would you invite?

Let’s see: my peeps (think there’s three these days), either one of The Misters (can’t tell ‘em apart, one’s as good as the other), you – for asking this question, someone from Legal, and this dead bird (as a snack).

Mister Smitty, how many lives did you have originally, and how many are left?

“Mao.”

And how many are left?

“Mao.”

Surf Smitty, USA

In the morning, Mr. Smitty likes to surf!

-- the waves of sunlight, I mean!

The East corner of our porch (now rearranged to its “Winter Palace” format) has a stripe of sunlight into which the Smee inserts himself and rides that swell.

Dude, this break is so cherry.

Dude, Mr. Smee, that set was like so totally awesome!

Dude, those barrels you – gnarly! or what?

I say, are you planning to “Hang 10,” My good smee?

The Undiscovered Adventures of Mr. Smitty (Imagined)

Disclaimer:

Unlike other “real” adventures of the Smee, the following “adventures” are supposed, projected, potential occurrences of a parallel universe in which the Smitty may or may not dwell.

(our lawyers made us write that – ed.)

The party of the first part (The Smee) pursuant to the desires of his Misters, was left to wander and cavort for the aforementioned no. of days

(see www.mistersmitty.blogspot.com/whatever/why/areyou/stillreadingthis/faux.url?)

Duh.

Details of this “adventure” are not available to this blog at press (enter) time.

The Rules of Etti-cat

Mister Smitty has etti-cat!

As you know from numerous reiterations, The Smitty is a polite a welcoming host when others arrive (for cocktails).

He greets, prances, lap-dances and lounges in the general direction of visitors (all of which is well documented in previous entries stretching back eons).

But WHY is the Smitty full of etti-cat?

Perhaps it is because he was, for a short time, owned by a scion of one of this island’s oldest families, and was trained to be a congenial smitty.

We suspect, too, that this is where he learned to so elegantly extend his front feet (sphinx-like) when lounging or posing.

The Mao of Smee

We now offer various translations of the Smitty’s most oft-bespokified expression -- “Mao”:

1) The final moment before you put his new food down in front of him.

Translations: THANK YOU

‘BOUT TIME!
C’MON WID’IT!
JOLLY GOOD/ CHEERS!
[expletive(s) deleted]

2) When the Smitty runs up the stairs after he has been adventuring far afield:
Translations: YO!
I HAVE ARRIVED!
ALERT THE PRESS!
LE CHAT, C’EST MOI!

Fan Mail, Part III: “Tube”ular

Many of our reader(s), understandably star-struck, ask questions about the Smitty’s screen and tube appearances. A sampling:

Was that your voice-over on The Simpsons last night?

No, I only do South Park.

What happened to your cameo in Babel? I thought you were cast as Goat #3?
My cameo in Babel was cut off because no one could understand what I was saying!
Meister Smithy, (tovish and slithy) I saw your posts on YouTube.
Yo, hush up about that! That *!#! was not authorized, ya dig?