The Smee’s “Day Agenda”

The Smee’s day is front-loaded!

All his important daily bidness is accomplishified within the first hour of his waking:

First, get up, get some sun (vitamin Smee).

Next, eat his grasses while he waits for lazy staff (The Misters) to rise.

Once he hears the telltale rattle of the kettle on the hob, The Smee positions himself
for food by standing in front of his dish, all four feets together as one,
for his piece of resistance.

The day’s climax achieved, The Smee wipes the smelly leavings
all over his face and saunters into his water room for a long sesh of water-lapping.

Finally, it’s outdoors and up the wee path to
the grasslands-formerly-known-as-the -enchanted-forest,
for a visit to The Smee’s Potty Palace.

Caught in Bed!

No, Yo, literally caught inside the bed: trapped below the box spring’s stapled on sheet,
conversing with the wooden interstices and sich
(Reader, there are no actual springs in this box spring).

[Though by Rite there should be Spring(s) -- ed.]

[You’re really pushing it -- other ed.]

[Don’t take such a tone, all right? -- ed.]

Can we get back to The Smee, please! If I can remember that far back,
I believe he was caught in a box spring.

A quick rending of the polyester (and thus non-proverbial)
veil freed The Smee -- and all of us -- from (mental) slavery.

[And hopefully, too, from too many parenthetical interruptions -- ed.]