Spa Luna(tic)

Mister Smitty Goes to the Spa!

                

Actually, he lives in one – unbeknownst to The Misters.

Every morning he lies on the sunniest part of our little grass mat, stretches, and waits for one of his attendants (aka The Misters) to brush or comb him. After a brief, refreshing aloe treatment to his wee sunburned, pre-cancerous ears, The Smee shakes a leg, dismisses his attendants (“ What were their names?”) and steals away to the shower for a cool drink of water.

Prize Money

Mister Smitty should win prize money!

“Mister, he could send in to ‘Funniest Home Video’ footage of his hijnks.”

“Mister – Hello! – did you just fall out of the 90’s? Uh … it’s called YouTube. Hello?”

-- Silence of Mister –

“ANY-way!”

“We’d show him typing this blog! We could win hundreds of thousands.”

“Mister, what would The Smee do with the moolah?”

“Stick it under the bed. If it were a big enough pile he’d pee on it.”

“He’d spend it on plastic surgery to repair his sunburnt ears.”

“Or get some hair dye: ‘Yo, my hair turned white before its time!’”

Sleep-a-holic

Mister Smitty has dreams!

Like others of his kind, The Smee is a heavy sleeper – whose shut-eye time far exceeds his waking hours.

Do felines dream of rodent sheeps?

“I dream about being fed by these two misters who pet and coo and comb my ass.”

“Mister, we’re part of The Smee’s dreams.”

“Mister, when he sleeps then he is in his real world.”

“Where he is master of his universe, doing concert tours with his peeps.”

(little black leather baseball cap with diamonds, bling rings, etc. Oh yeah.)

Sneaky Mister and the Case of the Aloe

Mister perpetrated The Smee!

The Smitty’s sunburnt ears (cf. numerous previous blogs, crises, paranoias, etc.) have developed black crusts.

“We must intervene!” intoned That Mister.

“Here-Here” affirmed the other one.

The Mister waited until The Smee was sleeping. He peeled a spear of aloe to reveal its goo and slathered the ear of the sleeping Smee -- who wrestled but did not awake.

Success!

Flatlining

Mister Smitty has to have face time with the floor.

“The Smee is an Olympic contender when it comes to flattening himself out along the floor,” said one of those Misters (undetermined at press time) [Granpa, what did “press time” mean? – ed.]

The Smitty has the uncanny ability to lay so flat -- to get his neck so flat to the ground -- that there is an unbroken line of contact from nose to tail. Front paws are folded over to aid in the flattening.

“Mister, the world is flat; and The Smee is down with that flatness.”

“Mister, he’s on the flat-low.”

A Good Hiding

Mister Smitty likes to hide!

“Mister, where’s The Smee?”

“Mister, is he in his jungle?”

“Is he under one of his Crack House tables?” (available exclusively at--)

[quit placin’ product placements! -- the legal team]

“Mister, is he snake-in-the-grassin’ it in the tall grasses (where crop circles were wont to form themselves in the sweet old by-and-by)?”

“Mister, there he is under the guava tree. That’s a new hiding place.”

“Ssh. Don’t let him know we know or he’ll decamp himself.”