Na Brae Smee

Mister Smitty likes bagpies!

Long about the shank of the evening, the mystic roll and coo of a lone bagpiper wafts through the misty southern woods.

Recently, the Smitty has taken himself to the highlands (behind the guava tree), nestling himself among the faux heather to watch the sunset. Now this crepuscularactivity of the Smee is accomplished to the mystic strains of the bagpipe!

What’s next, then, lad? A wee Tam O’Shanter for the Smee’s wittle head? Haggis and a scotch egg?

Jaded Palace

Mister Smitty is a jaded smitty.

As is the wont of the nomadic clan (aka the Feline) the Smee has moved to new haunts, namely ‘neath the twiggy boughs of the jade plant ‘neath the Misters’ porch.
There, amidst dappled shade (or mottled light, depending on whether you food dish is half empty, half full, or half full of ants), The Smitty lounges and composes (in his head) the various symphonies, novels, sonnets, and songs for which he will someday no doubt be remembered.