No Snarfus Meantis

Mister Smitty is polite about not smelling The Misters’ food!

When The Misters set their food – in its various compartments of itself – out on the coffee table (they ain’t got no dinin’ room table), the Smitty politely refrains from jumping up onto the table to sniff, snarf, or drag off huge chunks.

The reason for this is (The Misters theorize):

A) The Smitty is a healthy, well-fed smitty who wants not;

B) There are no other choices!

Vintage Smee (Cheap Re-run)

Since the editor you know as “—ed.” has “pulled the plug” on the Misters (read: still sulking), we at Mr. Smitty Enterprises have decided to dig through our chest of golden oldies to offer you a nostalgic trip down memory lane with your old friends The Misters and Mr. Smitty:

Let’s dip into the archive, shall we?

Here’s a good one – Oh, no, wait. That was stupid. One of those entries that’s all talk and no action.

Here’s a funny one! Remember that lame pun about –

OK, not that either.

Oh! I love this one – it’s that one where all the brackets are flying back and forth and the one editor talks to the other editor and you never even SEE Mr. Smitty the whole –

Ok, well, we at Mr. Smitty Enterprises will get back to you when we dig up an entry with action, meaning, and efficient use of language.

(if such an entry exists)

Mr. Smitty in Blackface

Mr. Smitty got (s)hit upside his head!

When Mr. Smitty came back with a large smudge on his head, the Misters were concerned.

“Is it mud?”

“It’s not greasy.”

Time passed (“doo-doo-doo-doo-doo…”)

“Mister, you know, that’s the one place the Smitty can’t clean.”

“The upside of his head.”

“He probably thinks he’s all immaculate and shi—“

“--Ssh! Don’t tell him!”

“No photos.”

“No.”

“’Mum’’s the word.”

Mao!

Mao!

Mao!

The Smitty is a good Communist Worker Smitty!

The Smitty’s only utterances are of the name of the once beloved, recently maligned (and someday, hopefully, to be rehabilitated) Supreme Leader!

Mao!

Mao!

Though well-fed, white, and well-groomed, the Smitty is not a “capitalist running dog.”
-- though he is a catalyst to make dogs run.

Mr. Smitty and the Case of the Spinach Fracas

Though it has been established that Mr. Smitty is a farmer (see previous (read: tedious) post), this in no way implicates, identifies, or indemnifies the Smee in the recent bagged spinach fracas.

We know this to be fact because a spokes-cat for S.A.S.A (Smitty Agribusiness, S.A) has denied any involvement with bagged spinach --

-- CAT-ego-rically!

Miao!

Miao! Miao! Mi---

[all right, that’s enough with the blog entries built entirely around one stupid pun! –ed.]

[you mean if it were built around two stupid puns that would be OK? –other ed.]

[No. And there is no “other ed.” –ed.]

[I guess that renders me speechless; well, excuse me for living! –artist formerly known as “other ed.”]

Farmer Smee

Mr. Smitty is a farmer!

The Misters finally caught him operating large farm machinery stored in the upper pasture.

Here you see an action shot of the Smitty having a ride on his little bulldozer/front-end-loader thingee.

It’s a convenient way for the Smitty to clear out mice nests, harvest quarry for his hunts, and make mysterious crop circles.

That’s a smart-farmer smitty!

Homing Device

Mr. Smitty is a helpful smitty!

When the Misters come back from a long sojourn, the Smitty comes out to greet them. But this is no innocent outburst of joy at our return…

“It’s not?”

“Ok, it is – but it’s also his moment to implant a secret smitty homing device onto the wayward Misters.”

“He’s a Secret Agentical Smitty.”

“Clearly, I was lost, and he is helping me not to be lost again by rubbing up against my leg and depositing his smell so I can find my way home!”

“Of course Mr. Smitty’s best homing device is –

-- his little face!”

No Me Moleste, Sr. Smeetee

Mr. Smitty can speak Spanish!

(or he entiendes it, at least)

He posts himself on the rock wall that separates the Misters’ yard from the Esais’ yard --

(the yard formerly known as the one belonging to Mr. Wilson (bad dog) and his owner, the Chonch Lady.)

-- and listens to the acciones y dialogos y todo eso of the newly arrived Esais.

He is so attentive to their talkings…

Does he understand them better than he does the Misters?

WAIT! Does Mr. Smitty work for La Migra?!?!

Gracious Host Tales #3 Hippie-Smitty has a Sit-In

Mr. Smitty is a polite host!

When Ms. Fabulous came over for an official interview with This Mister, the Smitty was very gracious in sharing his time.

When I arrived I found Ms. Fabulous and That Mister sitting <> like a pair of hippies --

(because, obviously, we can no longer describe their sitting positions with the Perniciously Incorrect phrase, “Indian style”)

-- with Mr. Smitty sitting between them!

The Smitty is a friendly smitty to visitors. He allows close contact, occasional petting (not “heavy”), and “face time” as the politicians say…

WAIT! Is Mr. Smitty running for office?!?!

Mr. Smitty, VFW (veteran of frickin’ Wilson (bad dog))

Our long national nightmare is over!

Mr. Wilson (bad dog) has been decamped after just less than a year after the Smee arrived.

(For a compleat timeline of the Smiity’s adventurizings please consult…[keep dreamin’! –ed.])

V-W Day (as it is called by the Misters) included a ticker-tape parade with Mr. Smitty sitting atop the back seat of a fab reverse-back-door-handled black convertible

Thunderbird?

Lincoln?

Zapruder?

. “--ANY-way!”

The Smitty doesn’t wave – he blinks quietly to acknowledge the accolades of his adoring fans.


Such a regal smitty!

Mr. Wilson (bad dog)’s Indy 500

The Smitty was heinously perpetrated by Mr. Wilson (bad dog) when the chonch lady would release her darling “Bebi” for his monthly rampage.

(He would immediately run up to our house and circle it endlessly at top speed, like an Indy 500 of Dog Stupidity.)

The admirable Smitty, during these dark hours, would run up to the porch, butt low as can be, dart inside, and hide under the bed.

Eventually Mr. Wilson (dumb dog) would exhaust himself dizzy with circling and return home, waiting to be let back into his cage (like humans, that).

The Smitty, devastated, would not re-emerge for hours!

His huddled mass, yearning to breathe free, would peer out from below the bed (at any curious Mister who came by to inspectify) and bleat plaintively,

“Meb?”

Gettin’ Down wi’da Peeps

Mr. Smitty entertains his Peeps when the Misters are away!

(“I know what you did last Tuesday!”)

I’m just a-waitin’ to come home and find the Smitty…

Standing up on two legs, drinking wine and frying onions!

Or…

Out on the porch, smoking a cigar (Cohiba, natch), presiding over his peeps who are prowling and reconnaisancing!

Or…

On the computer! (he likes to click the mouse)

Or…making phone calls -- for take-out!

“Mao!”

“Small or large?”

“Mao”

“Phone number?”

“Mao! Mao!”

(The Smitty is a Maoist, natch.)

Mr. Smitty’s Evil Doppelganger Peep!

Just when you thought it was safe to count the Peeps in Mr. Smity’s entourage, here comes a new one!

A small black cat has been prowling the purlieus, looking to get all up in Mr. Smitty’s territory, no’m sayin?

“Mister, does that make this new one Peep #3, or Peep#2 (because Mini-me got turned into a sculpture so that makes the faux-Princess peep Peep #1)?

“Mister, huh?”

“Mister, never mind. Let’s all chant!”

(together:).
Black cat! Black cat!
Evil doppelganger! anti-Christ smitty from the anti-matter universe!
And his name?
Mr…Yttims!!
(natch.)

The Mr. Smitty Scuplture

Mr. Smitty has a sculpture of hisself!

(to perpetrate the Misters.)

Formerly, we believed in the presence of a cat formerly known as “Mini-Me.”

Now, we posit that said cat is actually Mr. Smitty moving in the distance, prowling the purlieus, whilst what we see in the foreground is the sculpture of the sleeping (sometimes sitting-up, as in actual sculptures of cats) Smitty, deftly placed probably by his peeps --

(though not Mini-me who, by this quote-a-rat demonstration, is proved to be only a sculptural stand-in for the Smitty)

-- when The Smee wants to vamoose the premises unbeknownst to his masters, the Misters.

Eat-a-Mouse Part II: Mr. Smitty Got Game!

(as delicately as possible): “Excuse me, but where are the … remains?”

“With the Smee. Bottom of the stairs.”

The Misters pee(r?) (somewhere?) over the railing.

“There it is. Can’t tell if it’s ‘deed’ (Scottish accent). He’s pushing at it.”

Then the Smitty let the not-‘deed’-yet “wee sleekit” mousie skulk away a little bit, but This Mister coaxed the Smee to recapture it and coup-de-grassify it.
(all of this was done by a Mister safely behind the kitchen window – yuk! Once the mister discovered the potential of a rich gift from the Smitty, he immediately slammed shut the sliding glass door to repulse all smitties bearing gifts.).

“--ANY-way!”

Right. Back to the gory details that a jaded, Internet-sized attention-span demands:
[WARNING: the following descriptions of gnawing, ripping, disemboweling, eviscerating, gutting, decapitating, munching, yanking, gumming, and swallowing of the “wee sleekit tim’rous beastie” (Scottish accent, natch) have hereby been expunged by Mister Smitty’s parent organization, its advertiser(s?), associates, and subsidiaries in the—
[the preceding (and following) LEGAL DISCLAIMER has been expunged by the creative team as being depressingly corporate and overly litigious – ed.]

Mr. Smitty got game!

Eat-a-Mouse Part I: Hail the Conquering Smee!

Mr. Smitty ate a mouse!

(He left only the tail.)

“Nothing beats the fresh taste of wild game, eh, Mr. Smee?” said This Mister, as he peered down on the Smitty’s eviscerations and decapita(liza)tions.

“He brought it up on the porch and showed it to me,” reported That Mister. “But it was still alive. I had to pull my feet up off the floor like this” (does).

“Then he dropped it and swatted it and picked it up again. At one point he went back over to the door [mercifully closed – ed.] to look for you.”

“He wanted all the Misters to see.”

“Mister, he did.”

“Mister, The Smitty is a good hunter-smitty.”

“Mister, this story of the Smitty eating a mouse is a good one.”

“Mister, it is.”

“Mister, it should be continued.”

“Mister, it should.”

"Ok. Say the word.”

“To be continuated, yo!”

Mr. Smitty and the Fallacy of Invisibility

Mister Smitty is invisible!

Mister Smitty thinks that he blends in – green, when he is near the avocado tree, for example – and is surprised (when the Misters call out his name in glee) at being discovered.

“He thinks we can’t see him.”

“He thinks he’s invisible.”

“He thinks he’s a tricky camouflaged Smitty.”

“He is.”

“He thinks that being white is like being no-color, so, therefore, Q.E.D., neutral, thus invisible.

“He can take on the color he is near.”

“Like a chameleon.”

“That’s why The Smitty doesn’t attack monsters when he sees them – he thinks he is one of them!”

The Diaspora, Part IV: The Departure (Remixed)

Day One:

Sad! Sad! Sad!

“Good-bye, Mr. Smitty!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Smee!”

Mr. Smitty’s eyes averted, head down, lost in thought…

(his peculiar combination of denial and dissing you that is S.O.P. for the feline of the species, it seems)

“--ANY-way!”

“We’ll be back soon, Mr. Smitty!”

(“No we won’t.”

“Shoots!”)

“We’ll be back just before you forget who we are.”

The Smitty thinks: “Jus’ as long you get back an; fee’me, yo!”

[the replacing of dropped letters with apostrophes indicates a misguided attempt by the Misters to ebonically ventriloquize the Smitty – a practice against which legal proceedings are being initiated as we speak – ed.]

The Diaspora, Part III: The Interregnum

As our gentle reader(s?) may recall from previous (tedious) blog entries, The Misters had to shuttle between their house and the Ponderosa to dog-s(h?)it.

The entirety of the experience is herein catalogued and indexed in the kind of excruciating detail one has come to expect in the (Too Much?) Information Age:

(WARNING: the following contains material suitable only for persons suffering from (The?) O.C.D., Catophilia, or any like obsession.)

Abandon all taste, ye who enter here!

DAY # 6:

Alone for many hours sans <>, the Smee could be fancy-free:

Standing up on two legs and dancing (as we know he is wont to do when no one is looking

--much in the way popes want to s(h?)it in the woods, but since no one is there it doesn’t make a sound).

But mostly, the Smitty fills his long hours away waiting for the return of any (or all) Misters by hanging with his peeps, who comfort him by imitating velvet-paintings of dogs smoking cigars and playing poker.

Mr. Smitty always wins, of course

-- and smokes the Cohiba, of course!

Mister Smitty’s Peeps

Mister Smitty has peeps!

The Smitty’s peeps include:

1. Mini-Me, the small white furry smitty who perpetrates the main smitty
(hard to tell which is which in the dark, yo) and

2. the fluffy, faux-Princess smitty (bigger, tougher, greyer) who has a sweet face but who don’t get around much anymore.

Other smitties are queuing up to be part of Mister Smitty’s entourage, but at press time they had not cleared the lengthy interview and vetting process --

--“lengthy” because the “viewin’ ‘n vettin’” is done in the slim window of time when Mr. Smitty isn’t sleeping, eating, or sitting in a Mister’s lap.

Avocado Advocate

Mister Smitty hunted an avocado!

(sound of one avocado falling)

“Uh-oh. What’s that sound, Mr. Smee?”

The Smitty (always on the alert to sounds) thinks, “Mouse, pro’ly,” plunges into the undergrowth, and emerges with dark matter in his mouth.

“Quick. Close the door!” (so as not to have him run inside with a half-dead “rich gift” for The Misters.)

“But what if it’s just an avocado, yo?”

“Then he’s pro’ly mashing it up to put on his face as moisturizer.”

“Shoots. Pro’ly.”

Comrade Smitski

Mr. Smitty is a high-ranking member of the Politburo!

Mister Smitty had his front feet up on the railing (see artist’s rendering) to take his place (symbolically) aside the other cryptically placed members of the Central Committee for their yearly May Day photo-op.

(Like a sock-hop, only seriouser).

Comrade Smitski appeared very auspiciously placed between Comrade Smitskov (Da, pravda!) and Comrade Smitskovich (ochen menoga!)

Horrorshow, Comrade Smitski!

Treed, Part Four : The Aftermath(matics)

“Mister, you saved The Smitty!

“Mister, I did.”

“Does The Smitty need to speak to a counselor?”

“Mister, he does.”

“We could call his mom. She’s a counselor.”

“But is trauma the same for cats as for humans?”

“We need a cat-whisperer –kine counselor.”

[All right, time-out: we must step in here and cut off this obvious attempt to set up for a sequel to this already tired “Treed” tetralogy – ed]

[Yeah! What he said! – other ed.]

Treed, Part Three: Now and for(n)ever

[“Not!” – ed.]
[[Don’t start with that “[…--ed.]” stuff, or I’ll fold up your fictional universe so fast it’ll make your swim head!]]
[Ok, like, chillax, dude, master of the universe, Mr. Big, Artist-formerly-known-as-God, whatever…-- ed.]

“ANY-way!…”

And now back to our story…
After much gentle cooing and cajoling and inviting-down of the Smee from the offending branch --
-- none of which caused The Smitty to loosen his grip –
that Mister finally had to climb into the tree a bit and grab the Smitty and lift him down from the branch to a lower branch from which The Smitty felt he could then climb the rest of the way down.Which he did, and then ran across the grass and went into a serious licking session with the gusto of the damned

[Query: do the damned have gusto? – ed.]
[[Don’t start!]]

(MAY) BE CONTINUED !!

Treed, Part Two:The Rescue! (re-enacted (badly)

Let’s replay the scene…

“Do-do-do-do-do…I wonder where the Smitty got hisself to?”
“Miaux! Miaux!”
“O no! Mr. Smee! He’s caught in the tree!”
“Miaux!”
“I’ll save you Mister Smee!”
“Miaux”
“I’m coming, Mr. Smee!

[Inane! Predictable! Maudlin! – ed.]
[So? -- other ed.]
[So, I need to step in and cut it off before it sullies the reputation of this fine blog!—ed.]
[over my dead (cyber) body! – other ed.]
[I don’t mean to sound presidential, but “Bring it on!” – ed.]

[[at this point, we step back one more level, out of that frame to yet another wider reality in which that reality (that you thought was the real one) is actually contained,.
--(cf. The Saragossa Manuscript, Mariushka dolls, Plato’s “parable of the cave,” The Matrix, Boethius, St. Elsewhere, and (one suspects) Lost) –
to report that the “eds” tussle and wrassle and kick up a cloud of dust through which can be discerned (dimly)the words:
TO BE CONTINUED ! ]]

Treed, Part One: The Hype

Mr. Smitty got caught in the tree!

That Mister had to rescue him!

The harrowing untold (‘til now) story!

Stranded for minute(s)!

Trapped at dizzying heights (about 10 feet up)

No one four miles around! (but less than four miles away stood the two misters (who were, like, four feet away)).

Emotionally scarred for (one one-hundred and thirty-second of his) life!

For all this (mellow) drama…


STAY TUNED!!

Birdbrained

Mister Smitty ate a bird!


T(his) Mister: Mister, there’s a bird in here.

T(hat) Mister: Open the door and close the blinds on the other windows. He’s on the window by the phone.

T. Mister: And The Smitty?

T. Mister: He’s watching him.


== Later ==


T. Mister: Mister, The Smitty grabbed the bird from the table and took it outside and played with it. He’d let it go, then when it’d move he’d jut his head out at it (T. Mister demonstrates).

T. Mister: Where’s the bird now?

T. Mister: Inside Mr. Smitty (icky face).

The Diaspora, Part II:Shuttle Diplomacy

Mr. Smitty is all discombobulatified by the shuttle diplomacy of The Misters.

The Misters are equally non-non-plussed by the prospect of having to dog-sit a pair of wee doggies that need to be walked thrice daily!

“Mister, are you going home to feed The Smitty?”

“Mister, I thought you were.”

“Mister, I don’t know.”

“Let’s ask The Smitty.”

“Mister, Good idea!”

The Diaspora, Part 1:Parting is such smeet sorrow

Here begins the tedious multi-parted saga of the Mister’s House-sitting adventure that cast a desert of separation between themselves and the Smee – including a harrowing night or two actually not sleeping at home with the Smitty!!

Scene One: Tearful Goodbyes

“Mr. Smitty, we have to go!”

“We have to leave the Smitty on his own recognizance and sich.”

“Mr. Smitty!” (rending of garments, pouring of ashes over heads, etc) On knees, tear-bestained cheeks, sniffling:

“Will the Smitty promise to be a good and well-behaved Smitty?”

Mr. Smitty: (wildly twisting figure eights around the Misters’ feets to insure their safe return)

"Mao!"

Mr. Smitty’s Sleeping Habits

Mr. Smitty sleeps around!

The following is a list of the Smitty’s current “cribs”:

The Crack House (if it’s sunny)

That Mister’s lap (in the morning and early evening)

This Mister’s lap (late evening)

Barbie and Buddha’s wee shelf (late night)

The Misters’ respective chairs (with -- or without – the respective Misters in them). That is to say irrespective of the Misters – and disrespective, too!

Mr. Smitty’s Peeps #1:Mini-Me

Mr. Smitty has a mini-me version of himself who comes around late at night to snarf the Smitty’s food.

Mr. Mini-Me is a small white short-haired version of the Smitty --

“-- one of his peeps, yo --”

-- and doesn’t seem to be wild. Since we’ve taken to leaving the screen door cracked, we’ve found the Smitty’s food depleted by morning.

And the Smitty’s opinion of this violation?

Secret video cameras constantly recording the Smee’s dish (“Live Food Cam”) show Mini-Me breezing past an unconcerned Smitty who vaguely raises his head and blinks slowly.

That’s because the Smitty is a benevolent, contented Smee, all Zenned-out (post-ego, post-conflict), free from needy entanglements and making up for being the last child who got the hand-me-downs and other such karmic rollercoasters.

Mr. Smitty’s Peeps #1:Mini-Me

Mr. Smitty has a mini-me version of himself who comes around late at night to snarf the Smitty’s food.

Mr. Mini-Me is a small white short-haired version of the Smitty --

“-- one of his peeps, yo --”

-- and doesn’t seem to be wild. Since we’ve taken to leaving the screen door cracked, we’ve found the Smitty’s food depleted by morning.

And the Smitty’s opinion of this violation?

Secret video cameras constantly recording the Smee’s dish (“Live Food Cam”) show Mini-Me breezing past an unconcerned Smitty who vaguely raises his head and blinks slowly.

That’s because the Smitty is a benevolent, contented Smee, all Zenned-out (post-ego, post-conflict), free from needy entanglements and making up for being the last child who got the hand-me-downs and other such karmic rollercoasters.

A Nobel Smitty

Mr. Smitty has cured AIDS!*


* but he either can’t figure out how to communicate such stuffs to The Misters because they just sit around all day and occasionally disappear for long periods…

-- Or, he has the cure but he sees a lap, goes there, falls asleep, and then forgets.

“What was I thinking about?”

Sneezy Smitty and the case of the missing eye candy

Mr. Smitty is a sneezy smitty!

He likes to sneeze a lot recently.

“Is he allergic?”

“It’s probably the new [garbled]”

“Or the change of season.”

“When’s the equinox?”

“He doesn’t have as much goop in his eye as usual.”

“You mean Mr. Smitty’s eye candy?”

“Mr. Smitty IS eye candy.”

Wilson: 14 Points

Where does the Smitty go when Wilson (bad dog) is ranging free?

“Mister can look with the flashlight?”

“I don’t see him in the tree.”

“He should. I’d go into the tree, if I were a smee.”

“What’s Wilson (bad dog) eating?”

“It looks like plastic.”

“Dumbass.”

“No wonder the Smitty is nowhere to be found.”

“He’s embarrassed.”

“Should I re-put-up the jail?”

That Mister puts the child fence thingee back at the top of the stairs, so Wilson (bad dog) can’t steal my socks or sandals and sich.

“That dog is like a walking advertisement for cats.”

“Word, yo.”

Let’s All Chant!

Na Smee!

Na Smee, Na Smee, Na Smee!

Na Smee-tee-tee! Mis-ter Smee!

Hi, Mr. Smee-tee, Mr. Smee.

Hi, Mr. Smee-tee, Mr, Smee-tee, Mr. Smee-tee-tee!

Mis-ter Smee!

[repeat endlessly]

The Great Salt Lick

Mr. Smitty likes to lick himself!

His lickings are fun to smell when they are fresh. You can smell the salty smell of his breaths…

…like an estuary or bird sanctuary or bog: salty and sour.

Yum, Mr. Smitty!

Get Up, Stand Up

Mr. Smitty stood up on his hind legs!

He was chasing a white moth and he ran and jumped and clasped his hands together to try to perpetrate the moth.

“I knew he could stand up!”

“And dance!”

“So you think you can dance, Mr. Smitty?

[Photo documentation of his dancing on two feet will follow; such documentation was not available at press time (though, admittedly, there is no “press”).

But documentation is coming, we understand, from a small stable boy who lives in the loft with his brother who tends the sheep…]

Mr. Smitty’s Crack House

Mr. Smitty is in his crack house!
(a rock outcropping covered with succulents and such)

Mr. Smitty likes his crack house. He stays there for long periods – even in light rain. The first time we discovered he had a “problem” was when we observed the Smee having sat unmoving and smilingly contented for several hours

(after having fed him a food additive hereafter referred to as “Kitty Crack”).

“Mister, he’s been there a long time.”

“Mister, he has.”

“Mister, it’s raining.”

“Mister, he don’t know enough to come out of the rain.”

“Mister, that must be some good Kitty Crack, yo”

“Mister, we’re going to have to do an INTERVENTION!”

Sunburned II: The Final Solution

We rejoin the Misters in mid-hair (-pulling) as they run about the yard fretting about the black spots that have appeared on the Smitty’s ears

(which unbeknownst to them – but not to us – is the result of sunburn)

The Misters quickly pick up the bat phone (I mean “cat” phone) and speed dial The Blossom (aka. Ms. Fabulous) Cat Expert Extraordinaire

“Rub suntan lotion on his ears.”

(sighs of relief, “O Thank God”s, etc.)

“and on his nose, too, if he’ll let you. I had a cat once…

[fill in your own gory details]

“…eventually he had no nose – just two holes.”

Then The Blossom got all scientifical:

“Tipandectomy—“ (or something like that. Check the surveillance tapes, willya?)

“—where they have to cut part of the cat’s ears off. Have you ever seen…?”

No, I certainly have not – thank you very much! (wrapping my shawl about me and shuddering)

Sunburned Smitty

Mr. Smitty’s ears are getting sunburned!

The tips of his ears (pink under the white fur – his most albino moment) have scratches.

(I thought from a fight:)

“Doan mess!”

“Dat’s right!”

“Did you get into a fight, Mr. Smitty?”

He lets me inspectify his ear (Good Smitty!)

There are black spots!! (Like he was cooked too long)

What to do?! What to do!?

(The Misters run screaming from the building, pulling their hair in great tufts--

TO BE CONTINUED !

The Eyes Have It

Mister Smitty has pretty eyes!

One day on the porch, during that crepuscular time we call the cocktail hour, the Professor

(visiting, but not a “visiting professor”) said, in reference to the Smee:

“He has such beautiful eyes!”

To which those assembled could only agree.

“Aren’t they all that color yellow?”

(We take the phrase “they all” here to mean “all cats”)

“But his are particularly golden.”

To which those assembled could only agree.

Mr. Smee!

Prince of Cats

“Mister Smitty, what is you genealogy?”

“Prince of Cats, yo.”
(That Mister, speaking for the Smee, once played Tybalt, yo.)

“Egyptian? Like the Sphinxes?

“French? Comme les Garcons?”

“Les chats, puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison…”
[sorry to interrupt again – this is the “ed,” yo – but we must bow to the weight of allusions and references by footnoting, glossing, hyperlinking --
(N.B.: is “hyperlinking” a bygone fad word that faded? When I say it to my students they chuckle – like it’s as dusty as “groovy” but without the cache of well-used authenticity)
And where is the Smitty in all of this, we ask? Please object to such blatant literary allusion-makings by writing your congressman – or webmaster. And while you’re at it, object to the intrusiveness of the “eds,” too, yo!]

Mr. Smitty’s Monster Mash

Mr. Smitty caught a monster!

The Smitty was climbing in one of those big potted plants below the porch

“What are you doing, Mr. Smee? Are you adventurizing? Are you bending grass blades to clean between you toes?”

But then I saw the monster:

It was a small black monster with yellow-brown spots (a mini-monster). The Smitty smelled it all up and down but let it cling to the leaf.

When it jumped to the next plant, the Smee pranced around on the impossibly narrow lip of the plastic pot and then grabbed the monster in his mouth and brought it to the base of the stairs…

Where he proceeded to let it go and play cat-and-monster with it.

[At this point we must step in to stop the reporting of any gory violence that may or may not follow –ed.]

Mister Smitty is a Collared Smitty

Mister Smitty got a flea collar!

It’s an off-white affair that blends horror-moniuosly with the Smitty’s furs.

(The aroma of the aforesaid is a tad difficult for This Mister.)

The Misters were in a tizzy about whether to go with the anti-flea drops or with the collar.

But until a conference with our local quasi-resident expert on matters feline

-- future paid consultant of Mr. Smitty Enterprises, LLC –

The Misters, flummoxed, engaged in the stop-gap collar-measures mentioned above. We shall see…

On Reconnaissance: the Case of the Exotic Tarp

Mister Smitty went on the Bad Lady’s roof!

From there, he gets to look down on Wilson (chonch dog) and inspectify all he surveys.

The tar paper expanse -- covered now with a big blue tarp – makes for an exotic walking surface for the Smitty’s little pink paw-pads.

“He don’t hear us calling to him.”

“But wait: Here he comes!”

“Mr. Smitty, you did hear us!”

“Did you accomplish your mission?”

“We’re proud of you!”

Late Edo – Early Smitty Period (C.E.)

Mister Smitty is in his “Lap Period.”

There’s the Meji period that gives way to the Edo…

There’s Picasso’s Blue Period that went all rosey…

…and there’s Mr. Smitty’s “Dirt Nap Period” that is now giving way to his “Lap Period.”

Of course there was the Fluffy White Cat Bed Period (2005-2006 C.E.)

[for a full discussion and list of the historical periods reaching back to the early 21st Century (C.E.), close this blog and open a musty leather-bound tome somewhere, G.]

Mr. Smitty on the down-low

Mister Smitty is scared of the weed-whacker!

As soon as he hears it, he hunkers down and slides along close to the ground.

“He’s on the down-low, G.”

He slinks around looking for hiding places and reacts quickly to every new ka-ching! Chort! Or Snipp! of the weed-whacker – and looks for higher ground.

“The upper room, brother!”

“Tru dat.”

“Mister, he’s confusificated about where to go.”

“Mister, but at least each new place he poses he’s still an aesthetically pleasing Smitty.”

“Tru dat!”

Some Enchanted Smitty

Mister Smitty likes to do laps!

He isn’t sneaky about getting into your lap. If he spies an open lap… across a crowded room…

Some enchanted lap…
You will meet a strange lap
You will jump into a warm lap

The Smee is in my lap as we speak. I think he’s farting – I mean, “enchanting” the air with his inner essence…

Mister Smitty Live in Hawaii – the Concert!!

Relics…

…like the flea glove once used to (try to) remove fleas from the Smitty (but which the Smitty eschewed, disdained, rejected …

… like Elvis in Hawaii flinging those used scarves into the hands of screaming fans. It got The Misters talking:

“Yo, thass what someone should bring to Antiques Roadshow (yo) when it comes to Hawaii.”

(in his best appraiser’s voice:) “…because the scarf is still damp with the King’s sweat (after 30 years)…”

“That’s gross! Of course, if it were Madonna’s…”

“Or the Smitty’s…”

Mr Smitty!