Once the sun has set, the Smitty is so exhausted by that ecstatic vision that he remains in the faux heather until the smells of the Misters’ cooking tingles his “jaded” appetite.
If he is not still completely blessed out, the Smitty inspects said smells around 8 PM, deems them humanish and thus ridiculous, and may take a light snack from his dish.
There’s no more Smee until 9:30 or 10 PM when he comes to sleep on this misters’ lap for an hour of gentle purring.
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