No Desire or Sexual Horror

Mister Smitty has reached satori!

Dispassionate, released from worldly attachments -- and attaché cases --

(except for getting combed, hunting fresh game, and being fed punctually at 3:30 PM)

The Smee is fancy-free!

Last night when a cat in heat drew a crowd of toms (dicks and hairys), The Smee jumped off’n That 

Mister’s lap and scampered out to see what the ruckus was.

Tailing the Smee, That Mister found him not amongst the tussle but above the fray, at the bottom of the stairs, putting himself between the house and the caterwauling.

“Mister, he’s fixed. He ain’t gonna be party to none of that.”

“Mister, he’s disgusted by all that sessiality ‘mongst his peeps. So em-bare-ass-ing!

Path-etiquette

Mr. Smitty is pathological!

He frequents the beaten path between the house and the car.

Wanna meet The Smee?

Upon your arrival by car, please stick to the (beaten) path; The Smee will come to you. Do not attempt to chase, coax, trail, or trap him.

Wanna find The Smee pre-sunset or post-sunrise?

Follow the (beaten) path to Smitty familiarity and frequent repose. You’ll be glad you did.

(Paid for by the Have A Nice Day Memorial Fund for Smittiness)