The Smitty was flummoxed:
“Where’d those smells go? We got ourselves a sensory-deprivation sich-a-manation up’n here!”
Alerting his peeps-posse to nose out the quickly disappearing rugs, objets d’art, tchotchke and useless effluvia, The Smitty focused his attention on the curious behaviors of his Misters, who were seen to be stuffing everything into boxes and hauling it off in that truck they are frequently wont to disappear in.
“Something fishy going on,” surmises The Smee.
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