Escorts Waiting

Mr. Smitty has an escort service!

Whenever whomever of the Misters returns to the compound, Mr. Smitty saunters over to escort the aforesaid him safely home.

Mr. Smitty places himself in the path of the oncoming Mister(s) and waits until one or both Misters have passed by him en route to the house. Then, satisfied that they shall no longer be lost, The Smity bounds past them, up the stairs, to be the first inside.

Once the wayward Mister(s) have settled down in their box, The Smee, satisfied that their wanderlust is temporarily  spent, takes himself off duty and vamooses himself off the premises to cavort and adventurize hisself.

Read My Feets!

Refrigerator repair? Call Mr. Smitty!

Let’s re-enact a commercial-ripe moment of The Misters’ daily round:

“Mister, the fridge door don’t shut r(t)ight at the bottom.”

“Mister? But that’s exactly where the Smitty hangs.”

Days pass …

“Mister, I’ve discovered the problem! The out-stickingness of plastic grill kickplate thingy on the bottom is keeping the door from closing all good li’dat.”

“And The Smitty knew it all the time, Look: his feets are pointing right there to the bottom of the fridge!”

(Mr. Smitty: “Duh.”)

“Mister, The Smee is a refrigerator repairman green energy saving specialista!”

Cruising in da ‘hood

Mr. Smitty was fraternizing with the neighbors!

“I saw your cat yesterday.”

“Mr. Smitty? Yes, I saw him cavorting up your way.”

“Such a charming cat.”

“Was he begging?”

“No. He sniffed around, ‘miao’ed a bit, and let me pet him.”

“He’s full of parlor tricks, that Smee.”

And so, as in a children’s book visit to the kindly old lady next door, The Smee returned from his visit beaming.

What a neighborly Smitty!