Smee be chillin!

Sunset under the guava tree, listening to Nan Cherry, yah, yah…

(Picture the Smee as a rap artisite, patting down the air in front of hisself, letting his jacket fall open and his bling (so ‘90s) slide from side to side, uh-huh, uh-huh,, pumping his hand-held wireless mic in one claw, baseball cap rakishly to the side, shades a slidin’ down his wee nose).

Ah-huh: the Smee be chillin’

Stumblebums!

The Misters are a couple of stumblebums!

At night, in the dark, they’re liable to bump a Smitty – worse – step on his tail. How rude!

Bunch of uncoordinates. Humans are clumsy enough in the daytime (all that weight and height trying to balance itself 6 feet in the air on two spindly little legs, and carrying a glass of wine to boot. But at night their clumsiness expands exponentially.

Good thing the Smitty is white like a pedestrian traffic cop with a big orange reflective X so they can see.

Hello!

The Peep-arazzi

Peeps are in the ‘hood!

Hear that cat—er—walling?

Is it the Smee?

No, he’s perched up on shoeland. Whoop! There he goes to investigate.

“Peeps calling me again? What have I got to do for them now? Can’t get along without me! Need me to solve some squabble. Everybody wants a piece of the Smee. I tell ‘em there’s enough of me to go around, but they’re jealous. Need reassuring.”
It must be tiring to be the Smee!

Avant-Garde Duty

Mister Smitty is on guard duty!

Protecting the southern flank has become more and more of an issue these days and the Smee has stepped up to do his part!

Today he perched himself on the stone wall (no, not that Stonewall), that divides the Misters’ demesnes/terroir/querencia from the access road (dirt) beyond which there lies the “Southern Woods,” Waiakoa, and, at a fur piece, the Kingdom of Oprah.

All Through the Night

When summer comes and the avocadoes ripen. (And fall – Kershuffle!)

Then is the time the Smitty gets to crack with the rats!

All through the night
The Smee delights in rat-ationation.
All through the night he’s a-spyin’ them!
All through the squeaks
Of their chirping fights
All through the leaves,
He’s a-killin’ them!
[Take it to the bridge, yo]
You’re such a good smee,
Even though you want to present us with rich gifts that repulse and cause fear,
Still, in the night, we adore you!

Mr. Lickety-Splitty

Mr. Smitty likes to lick between his claws!

It’s like reading between the lines (Or reading between licks).

Sounds unnecessarily drawn out (Prolonged, attenuated, dilatory).

ANY- way!

The Smitty likes to lick between his claws after dining, a process that takes all of three minutes.

The Licking or the dining?

Either! Both!

Comb-ination

Mr. Smitty likes to be combed!

Though this in no way suggests that his Smittiness suffers from a preponderance of fleas;it is simply a matter of, well, let’s consult our panel of experts:

“Da comb is all stimuatin’ and sh—“

Thank yo, Professor, Yo

“He likes it because he likes it.

Could you expand?

No.

It saves him from doing the work of delousing himself. That realization of increased leisure time, coupled with the actual physical pleasure, combines with the ego-soothing attention he gets from the human comber to produce an ecstatic state, not unlike coit—

And there you have it, folks. Think on these things the next time you put comb to cat.

Experts?

Word. Fleas out.