Mister Smitty and the Conservation of Mass

Query: Where does cat hair go when it is expelled from The Smitty (copiously, obviously) and then vacuumed, swept, or otherwise inhaled by The Misters?

Since nothing disappears (but suffers a sea change, rich and strange, yo), then are The Smee’s hairs coalescing to form some great Taj Mahal of Smee hair? And if so, where?

Hair trackers have been deputed to follow the lissome trail of The Smee’s ephemeral leavings.

“We shall read their prophecies anon, yo.”

Dis Closure

I like the Smitty!

My devotion is religious in nature: I believe that close contact with the ins-’n-outs of The Smitty’s daily round are as significant as anything that can be experienced on this plane (and its connecting flights).

For this reason, I write the Dao de Smee (these blogs) as light-hearted vectors pointing toward the ever evanescent present.

Do you know who taught me all these pretty things? My Smitty!

Smee Smack

Mister Smitty was misfed!

An unfortunate hiatus occurred in the Smee’s dietary regimen: he had no dry food for a day and was fed only wet food!

O the humanity! I mean, the Feline-nanity!

Fearing a “fiber gap,” The Misters scramble, but the Smee is unrelenting in his now rapacious desire for wet food.

“I’ll feed him as small (sob) an amount as I dare (sob)…

Ten minutes later, The Smee is again poised before his dish … as though nothing has happened!

“Psychological counseling! Intervention! Call the Wet Food Addicts Hotline!”