Happy B-Day Mister Smitty!!!!

We love you Mister Smitty!!!

Hope you are having a very Happy Birthday!!!!!

Love,

The Mister's

P.S. Hope you liked the Poke!!!

Mr. Smitty’s Academy, Part III: Seminars, Colloquia, et al.

The Black Hole of Cat-cultcha’ Distinguished purr-fessor of Cat-Astrophysics, Meister Schmittee – outstanding in his field (where classes are conducted) – selects rising seniors for a seminar in unified field-sitting, string and yarn theory, and relativ-kitty.

Mousy Tongue: Revolutionary Cookery from Wildcrafted Vermin Have you ever thought about pausing before devouring your raw mouse to consider various slow-cooking possibilities? This course is for you. Discover the pleasures of heat, evisceration, deep-fry, and various parfait-style preparations.

Mr. Smitty’s Academy, Part II: Courses Offered

Tongue Bathing 101: An introduction to the basic labial skills required for cleansing, grooming, de-knotting, de-gnatting, being natty, and anal hygiene. May be taken for credit in Linguistics.


Spatial Sabotage and Counterinsurgency: Students will cover the relevant history, famous battles, etc. to prepare them for the experiential portion of the course, which includes strategic self-placement in high traffic areas (in front of kitchen sink, in the middle of the bed, etc.) swift, stealthy insertions to vex and disrupt, and the basics of kitchen insurgency. Required for the degree in Cat-astrophy.

Mr. Smitty’s, an elite school for cats Part I: from the course Cat-alogue

Mr. Smitty, aware of his vast talents, has decided to share his gifts with the world for a small fee. Let’s look through some of the courses offered:

Adventure Sleeping: This rigorous experiential course requires sleeping in all sorts of outdoor locations, precarious perches, hard, soft, wet surfaces.

Course instructor: Dr. Smee-gmund Smee, Ph.dy - Du.dy. Prerequisite: Catnapping 101.

Escape from the Bathroom!

In the shower, sensing the great outdoors is near, The Smitty scours the shower floor looking for the gateway.

“I can smell it!”

But a thin veil separates The Smee from the olfactory paradise winking at him (nasally speaking) from the beyond. He looks up at The Misters with a look that says –

[oh no, here comes the anthropomorphizing again! – ed.]

[you know, if it weren’t for the existence of brackets, yo, you wouldn’t exist – other ed.]

(silence of --“ed.”)

Anyway, he has the same puzzled look that The Smee has.

Q.E.D., yo.

The Storm

All wind, no Smee.

Then, no electricity.

All day:

Smee on couch.

Because of no electricity, The Misters enjoyed “All-Smee TV.” Nestled on the couch, they were rapt by programs like “Cleanin’ Myself” (one of those DIY shows), “How to make a sculpture of myself by sitting still” (meditational programming), and “Watch me Bend my Leg Back Funny” (sit-com).

Mister Smitty and the Conservation of Mass

Query: Where does cat hair go when it is expelled from The Smitty (copiously, obviously) and then vacuumed, swept, or otherwise inhaled by The Misters?

Since nothing disappears (but suffers a sea change, rich and strange, yo), then are The Smee’s hairs coalescing to form some great Taj Mahal of Smee hair? And if so, where?

Hair trackers have been deputed to follow the lissome trail of The Smee’s ephemeral leavings.

“We shall read their prophecies anon, yo.”

Dis Closure

I like the Smitty!

My devotion is religious in nature: I believe that close contact with the ins-’n-outs of The Smitty’s daily round are as significant as anything that can be experienced on this plane (and its connecting flights).

For this reason, I write the Dao de Smee (these blogs) as light-hearted vectors pointing toward the ever evanescent present.

Do you know who taught me all these pretty things? My Smitty!

Smee Smack

Mister Smitty was misfed!

An unfortunate hiatus occurred in the Smee’s dietary regimen: he had no dry food for a day and was fed only wet food!

O the humanity! I mean, the Feline-nanity!

Fearing a “fiber gap,” The Misters scramble, but the Smee is unrelenting in his now rapacious desire for wet food.

“I’ll feed him as small (sob) an amount as I dare (sob)…

Ten minutes later, The Smee is again poised before his dish … as though nothing has happened!

“Psychological counseling! Intervention! Call the Wet Food Addicts Hotline!”

Social Just Us

Mister Smitty is a social climber!

He climbed up the monolith (kind of like the black monolith in 2001: a Space Odyssey but painted orange and full of shelves) to perch on a palette of Perrier ©, to peek between jars of pasta sauce, to nose the cylinders of canned air, etc.

“Mister, he movin’ on up t’ the East Side, yo, to a D-lux orange- monolith in d-sky.”

“That, or he’s on rat patrol.”


(The Misters have had several Close Encounters of the Vermin Kind in and about the monolith’s nooks and crannies.)

You go, Mister Smee!

Scar-struck

Mister Smitty has been scarred!

[obviously, from living with obsequiously attentive Misters – ed.]

“No, G: he’s got battle scars.”

And they are spectakulah: all upside his face (trans.: top of his head, just under the ear).

Attempts to apply Neosporin © were erased five minutes later by The Smee, scrappin’ to protect his turf, fightin’ for his right … to POTTY!

Dirty Smitty & The Case of the Big Rain

Mister Smitty is a dirty smiity!

After the big rain he came mewing back to the porch all striped up with dirt like a tiger

Though not wet! Curious…

A little blood on his face (right whiskers) was a conundrum for his handlers and press people until This Mister spied a small black cat picking his way through the wet tall grass from whence came the dirty striped Smee!

Did the rain force The Smee to defend his territory? Did one of his peeps do him dirty?

Scar-struck Mister Smitty has been scarred!

[obviously, from living with obsequiously attentive Misters – ed.]

“No, G: he’s got battle scars.”

And they are spectakulah: all upside his face (trans.: top of his head, just under the ear).

Attempts to apply Neosporin © were erased five minutes later by The Smee, scrappin’ to protect his turf, fightin’ for his right … to POTTY!

Fizz Ed.

A distinguished think tank (with a few whizz kids thrown in to upset the pipe-smoking bearded types therein) have been tasked with exploring the possible past, future, and parallel lives being lived by The Smitty.

Was he a human in a past life, trying to contact us with info? A request? Or are we limiting our imaginations to paltry anthropomorphizing for our own aggrandizement?

[multisyllabic Latinate word alert? –ed.]

[distracting interruption alert? – other ed.]

[somebody’s got too short an attention span for speculative inquiries, huh? -- ed.]

[or somebody’s a dilletantish sycophant enthralled by big word-tossers! – other ed.]

TO BE CONTINUED (oh, great: the exciting “Battle of the [--ed]s”)

From Scratch

Mister Smitty is crazy (for a good scratching)!

When The Smitty espies a convenient Mister approaching (either one will do … are there even two?), he stands up on the office chair, puts his front feet on the seat back over his head, and spreads his legs (as if to be frisked) so as to allow plenty scratching of his copious stomachs and chestal areas.

Elated, he stretches his head back (to look at the scratching mister) like some 40’s pin-up doll (which he is).

In the (Upper) Bored Room

“Please come to order!”

(We’ve snuck into a board meeting : penthouse windows, laptops at every seat)

“First report for the chairman?”

Mister Smitty, (aka “The Chairman”) in an excessively over-padded office chair, sleeps.

Insiders tell us that these meeting follow strict protocols (here described):

1) Do not report any fluctuations in expenses, revenues, etc. that shall disturb The Smee.

2) If The Smee stirs, proceed with clear hearts, desist from petty internicene arguments about payscale, seniority, office space, etc. – in short, anything that The Smee (in his infinite wisdom) will not cotton to.

3) Adjourn at first sign that The Smee gets a notion to eat or adventurize.
“Meeting adjourned!”

On Rear’n ‘N Matur’n ‘em

Mister Smitty is thinking (about what’s) outside the box!

When the honorable Smee enters a box (placed randomly for his delectation), the first thing said cosmic venturer does is to get all-up-in-der and scratch all (6) sides (doing his ludicrous calculations like a Count’em physicist).

This music is music (to The Misters’ ears).

Later, becalmed, The Smee peers out the front of the box, like a man who has only recently unchained himself from the depths of his cave, and rediscovers the many-more-than-six-sided world of those crazy Misters and their so-called reality.

-- then plunges back inside to re-scratch-ify and re-calculate what the hell is going on!

‘Someone’ is Waiting

When The Misters want to refer to the Smee without saying his name, they say things like:

“Mister, ‘Someone’ is drinking his water!” “Mister, ‘Someone’ is showering” (meaning when he sits person-like in the middle of the room and commence-ifies to lick hisself all over). “Mister, ‘Someone’ is eating his grasses.” “Mister, ‘Someone’ is hunting.” “Mister, ‘Someone’ is praying.” “Mister, ‘Someone’—

[--is pulling the plug on this inane blog post –ed.]

The Bees’ Needs

Alarmed by the precipitous and calamitous decrease in the world’s bee population, the Smee does his part by cavorting with the bees!

As though they were depicted in a children’s book, gamboling and frolicking amongst each other’s claws and stingers, the Bees & Smee wile away these last remaining moments we have on earth together in a harmonious tandem of buzzing and swirling.

Call me’ e-mail

A cry in the night!

Is it the Smee? Is it a fight? To the finish?

The Misters run to the railings, gunwales, the mizzen mast, to the fo’c’s’le, but all is black … as a black cat! But all is quiet on the nor’eastern-sou’western fronts.

“saw the wee black cat at sundown” comes the ringing from amidships.

“saw the faux-Princess crossing into the southern forest,” says the sextant.

Meanwhile The Misters pace the quarter deck and brood. Then, turning of a sudden to the crew they bark:

“Have ye see the White Smee!?”

Jar’d ‘n ‘e air

Mister Smitty likes to garden!

Apart from his large-scale farming endeavors (see jolly tractor photo), The Smee enjoys recreational gardening. Whenever This Mister descends to inspect-ify the plants

(read: avoid reading papers),

The Smitty comes to assist!

But most of all he likes to get right in the middle of the gardening table and plop down next to the trowel. This keeps the essential gardening tools, pots -- yea, the great table itself – from flying off into space.

Thank you, Mr. Smee!

I Want to Play a Game...

Poor Mister Smitty had the tips of his ears chopped off by Jigsaw!!!

Poor Mister Smitty he doesn't know how to get out of his trap...the dastardly Elizabethan collar killing device. His time is running out. He has two more days to figure it out.

Come on Mister Smitty...you can do it!!!

Sly Maneuvers

Mister Smitty likes to divide and conquer!

Like a child who’s learned to play one parent against the other, the Smitty will pull any and all of his cute maneuvers

(for a complete list of same, see “The Whole Smee Cat (a log)” )

a wink, a figure 8 weaving of the legs, a gentle “mao” etc. – in order to get the scratching/combing/brushing/feeding/watering or lap-riding he feels he so richly deserves.

The Name of the Smee, Part IV

Crowds gathered (and chanting madly) have now been determined to be not so much in wait of the Smitty’s first name being revealed (soon, soon) but in opposition to the continuance of this drawn-out miniseries, indulging our time and frustrating the quickly dwindling readership of our fan(s?).

With that in mind, let us proceed then to knock down the door (incite riot here) plunge inside, and –

-- but there’s no one here! They’ve all gone: taken the secret name and vamoosed the camp. They’ve even taken the camp: there’s no building here anymore in which a slot can deliver the secret name, I, your trusty reporter am likewise no longer --
[at this point the transmission cuts off – ed.]

The Name of the Smee, Part Three

Conjecture!

Possible first names in the mix include nicknames (or the “speakable” names of the Smee) culled from the vast archives:

The Smitty, The Smee, Mr. Smee, The Smit-ational Device, Comrade Smitski, Xmi-te, Bruddah Smee, Monsieur Smitte, etc.

Of these, experts posit that the truth lies somewhere in the mid “L” -- but experts have been unable to locate the “L’ and so perhaps are misguided.

We’ll take this break and be back as soon as a paper is waved through that slot indicating the posting of the unspeakable (first) name of the Smee is spoken (on paper).
Roger, is that white smoke I’m seeing issuing from the relevant chimney?



The Name of the Smee, Part IV

The Name of the Smee, Part II

We are live outside the executive offices of Mr. Smitty’s blog for what is promised to be the revelation of the ne’er-to-fore spoken first name of the Smee.
While we wait for the first printout of the soon-to-be revealing posting, let’s go to our roundtable (please join our video conference) of Mr. Smitty experts.
First let’s go to professor Popoki, of Bahda U., author of SmellslikeSmee.com, a webring of discussion groups who dissect and analyze the blog postings of this website.
“Eh tanks brah. How you stay? You know we have the local-kine slant on stuffs so we look to interpret clues that relate to the ‘aina, yah? You know what is: “location, location, location”? Well, you could translate ‘em as: “da ‘aina, da ‘aina, da ‘aina,” yeah?
Anyway, we stay ready to translate the unspeakable (wen broke da mouth) name local-style, bumbai.”
Next, it’s professor Dat Wright, Flip Wilson Professor of Ebonics at the University of Nuffsaid.
“Yo, check it: Mr. Smitty has GOT to –
[in the immortal words of Polonius: “This is too long.” –ed. We will return at the first sign of content]
[Is that a promise? – other ed.]

Nomen-c(l)at-ure

Confusions have been swirling in the streets!
In some quarters, rumors abound concerning Mister Smitty’s first name (which they consider a secret held by this site (its subsidiaries, heirs, and aasigns) to be revealed only in that most tedious of ways, the Multi-Part Series.
Let’s recall some of those most dreaded multi-parted serieses, shall we?: There was the oh-(not)so-clever “Da Smitty Code,” the suspenseful “Plastic Trash Bag Mystery” (or was it “misery”?) and that most loathed of all multi-parters: “Da Vater Code” – a misguided attempt by bloggists to wrap the conundrum of the Smitty’s water drinking preferences inside the enigma of physics, weights and measures, etc. (Archimedes, passim).
[read it quickly, before it’s expunged! – ed.]
“ANY-way!”
Let it be said here that we intend no such depressing multi-partem postings. We understand from our chatrooms, comments, and snail-mail letters (including one composed of letters cut from magazines) that these serieses are odious in the extreme.
Nevertheless, since we have at present wandered so far afield of our purpose that we must apologize, we must cut this posting off at the head, lest it grow longer.
Sadly, the quest for the illusively unspeakable (first) name of the Smitty is –
T- B- C-NT-N--D!

Boxed-In

Mister Smee is in the box!

Mister Smitty likes to get hisself all up inside boxes (when, in the course of porch events, they occur)

“Mister, to state the obvious, it’s like the womb!”

Return to paradise. Return to forever. Paradise now. Jump here for eternity. If I could hold time in a bottle…

“Mister, it’s like packaged purring!”

Insane Posse of Clowns

Mister Smee has a posse!

Mister Smee has an entourage, his yes-men, his retinue, his sycophants, his homies, his crew, his bruddahs.

Mister Smee has peeps who’ve got his back. Their names?

Mister & Mister (and all our dear reader(s?))!

BBQuotient

Mister Smitty likes the BBQ!

All (the live-long) day the Smee lounged under the table upon which perches the small BBQ grill.

This being summer, the afforded shade there keeps his delicate pink ears of the Smee from developing the sores that lead to You-Know-What-ectomies.

Even when we rolled out the shank of the evening, did the Smee remain ‘neath the warming coals (though the flying sparks concerned the Misters mightily).

Mr. Smee!

Sneezy Smitty

Mister Smitty sneezed on my foot!

The Misters were returning a bit late (6 PM) for the Smitty’s main feeding time (3:30).

“I’m shutting off the motor so we can hear the Smitty’s plaintive cooing.”
(which decodes as: “I’m hella hungry, yo. Where you been?”)

“Hi Mister Smee!” (wicked retarded waving of hands by the Misters).

“Mao!”

“Mr. Smee!”

“Mao. Mao”

“Mr. Smee”

[repeat chorus endlessly – ed.] [less sarcasm in the sweet moments, eh? – other ed.]

And then the Smitty sneezed on me.

It was a lusty, full-nosed sneeze that landed on my mostly bare Teva©-covered feet.

“Mister, now that the Smee has sneezed on me, I‘ll never wash my foot.”

Explorers Day

Mister Smitty is an explorer!

He’s even now as we speak in the (great) Northern Woods!

Just past the “clubhouse” -- t’other side of the single floating string of barbed wire -- lie the great Northern Woods (where horses have been wont to roam and from whence, in a storied yesteryear, a cat (we) named “Mini Me” (see The Compleat History of Mister Smitty’s Peeps, Volume 1) used to issue hisself.

This foray into the Northern Woods marks a deeper level of cavort-ation on the part of the Smee, who has not been seen to have penetrated said woods to such an extent heretofore.

Will he keep going until he reaches the tennis court, or more: till he circumnavigate the globe?

A Bit(e) Gamey

Mister Smitty got a mouse!

He brought it up to the most heavily-trafficked spot on the porch to present to his Misters. (Luckily I slung the door shut before being so richly gifted with live game.)

He played with the wee sleekit tim’rous beastie for awhile before picking him up and taking him down to the killing floor (the grass at the bottom of the stairs where the Smee has consumed all but one of his dark materials).

“We should erect a scoreboard down on the killing floor.”

“It would say Birds 4, Rodents 4.

“That’s what I call a dead (h)eat!”

On the Whiteness of the Smee

Famous white (non-albino) animal/creatures:

Moby-Dick

A white elephant (sale)

Mister Smitty

Others? If so, Please contact us!

Ask Mr. Smitty!

Due to the overwhelming # of cards and letters (all virtual) pleading with us to “Ask the Smee,” we hearby inaugurate a new web service for our devoted readers:
Ask the Smee!

Due to the backlog of questions already amassed (we’ve had to rent an entire second floor at the corporate offices to store the requests (lovingly transferred to hard copy by order of the Library of Congress (scholars take note)), your newly submitted questions may have to wait as long as 3.14 years before being answered.
But do not fear!

All questions are assigned a ping pong ball and are gleefully spun in an see-through cage by a handsome assistant (“headspinner”) and questions are selected at random. This means –

[they know what “random” means – ed.]

Ok then, ‘nuff said.

Sloppy Seconds

Mister Smitty likes sloppy seconds!

If the Smee can get one of those (hopelessly interchangeable) Misters to scratch/comb/brush him of a morning…

… Why not try for two?

When the second Mister then appears of a morning, he too is addressed in the same shamelessly insistent way with regards to dermal stimulation (see previous post, viz. passim, Q.E.D.).

Who is the wiser (besides Misters (who endlessly update each other on the Smee’s movements) and you, dear reader(s?))?


Merry Christmas, Mister Smee!!!

Dolts!

Mornings, whichever Mister is first to gain the porch, it is to him that the Smee repairs for scratching, combing, brushing, etc.
A light (figure eight) weave of the Mister’s legs usually makes the message clear.
But sometimes a Mister is a dolt. In these cases, the Smee stretches out on the sea grass mat and claws it like a housewife grabbing madly at the 50% off table in Filene’s basement (as we used to say in the Northeast).
This clawing, like a raindance, is supposed to remind the doltish gods by imitating the requested combing action. This “dumbshow” refers both to the action of miming and the idiotic audience trying to be reached.

“Oh. You want to be scratched?”

Duh.

A Shiner

Mister Smitty is a shiny smitty!

Mister Smitty’s coat (of not so many colors) shines mightily i’ the sun. His topmost hairs look translucent, almost clear. They ride lightly on his back, raying out like the long quills of peacock feathers (especially after he’s been combed and scratched repeatedly by one of those misters.

“Hard to tell ‘em apart. Just comb me!”

Daily Sched’ Part III: Graveyard shift

Mister Smee departs in the 11th hour!

The Smitty’s late-night hi-jinks are the subject of much debate. Infrared nightvision laser UV photography reveals him often on duty on the western wall, attentive to small avocado-seeking creatures. Some nights he can be found in his pre-dawn spot (office chair, waiting for sunrise) as early as 3 AM.

But he is never talkative about an empty food dish until daylight finds a sleepless mister up and aboot. Only then does a single plaintive cry ring out for food!

Happy Birthday Mr Smee!!!!!!

Daily Sched’ Part II: The Shank of the Evening

Once the sun has set, the Smitty is so exhausted by that ecstatic vision that he remains in the faux heather until the smells of the Misters’ cooking tingles his “jaded” appetite.

If he is not still completely blessed out, the Smitty inspects said smells around 8 PM, deems them humanish and thus ridiculous, and may take a light snack from his dish.

There’s no more Smee until 9:30 or 10 PM when he comes to sleep on this misters’ lap for an hour of gentle purring.

Daily Sched’ Part I: The Daily Cause

Mister Smitty is on vacation! -- or so it seems from his daily sched’:

At sunrise, he plops down to catch some rays. When he gets too hot he goes for the shade under the BBQ grill then back out in the heavily-trafficked spot on the deck for more sun and stretching and general in-the-way-ness.
By mid-morning it’s too hot, so the Smee retires to the shady jade plants where he often remains until it is time to dress for dinner. In summer, the Smee likes to dine late (5 PM) instead of his usual 3:30 PM (Paparazzi please take note).

After an after dinner drink on the deck, the Smee heads up to Faux Scotland (behind the guava) to nestle in the hearther-ish stuffs and watch the sunset.

Ill-literate

Mister Smitty doesn’t read his blogs!

Attempts to engage the Smee in his own stories have repeatedly failed. Photos of the Smee walking on the computer keys or tracking across spiral notebooks full of blog entries have brought no reaction.

He is “over it” [as are most of our readers –ed.].

“Yo, this blog is like so 5 meows ago.!”

Na Brae Smee

Mister Smitty likes bagpies!

Long about the shank of the evening, the mystic roll and coo of a lone bagpiper wafts through the misty southern woods.

Recently, the Smitty has taken himself to the highlands (behind the guava tree), nestling himself among the faux heather to watch the sunset. Now this crepuscularactivity of the Smee is accomplished to the mystic strains of the bagpipe!

What’s next, then, lad? A wee Tam O’Shanter for the Smee’s wittle head? Haggis and a scotch egg?

Jaded Palace

Mister Smitty is a jaded smitty.

As is the wont of the nomadic clan (aka the Feline) the Smee has moved to new haunts, namely ‘neath the twiggy boughs of the jade plant ‘neath the Misters’ porch.
There, amidst dappled shade (or mottled light, depending on whether you food dish is half empty, half full, or half full of ants), The Smitty lounges and composes (in his head) the various symphonies, novels, sonnets, and songs for which he will someday no doubt be remembered.

Smee be chillin!

Sunset under the guava tree, listening to Nan Cherry, yah, yah…

(Picture the Smee as a rap artisite, patting down the air in front of hisself, letting his jacket fall open and his bling (so ‘90s) slide from side to side, uh-huh, uh-huh,, pumping his hand-held wireless mic in one claw, baseball cap rakishly to the side, shades a slidin’ down his wee nose).

Ah-huh: the Smee be chillin’

Stumblebums!

The Misters are a couple of stumblebums!

At night, in the dark, they’re liable to bump a Smitty – worse – step on his tail. How rude!

Bunch of uncoordinates. Humans are clumsy enough in the daytime (all that weight and height trying to balance itself 6 feet in the air on two spindly little legs, and carrying a glass of wine to boot. But at night their clumsiness expands exponentially.

Good thing the Smitty is white like a pedestrian traffic cop with a big orange reflective X so they can see.

Hello!

The Peep-arazzi

Peeps are in the ‘hood!

Hear that cat—er—walling?

Is it the Smee?

No, he’s perched up on shoeland. Whoop! There he goes to investigate.

“Peeps calling me again? What have I got to do for them now? Can’t get along without me! Need me to solve some squabble. Everybody wants a piece of the Smee. I tell ‘em there’s enough of me to go around, but they’re jealous. Need reassuring.”
It must be tiring to be the Smee!

Avant-Garde Duty

Mister Smitty is on guard duty!

Protecting the southern flank has become more and more of an issue these days and the Smee has stepped up to do his part!

Today he perched himself on the stone wall (no, not that Stonewall), that divides the Misters’ demesnes/terroir/querencia from the access road (dirt) beyond which there lies the “Southern Woods,” Waiakoa, and, at a fur piece, the Kingdom of Oprah.

All Through the Night

When summer comes and the avocadoes ripen. (And fall – Kershuffle!)

Then is the time the Smitty gets to crack with the rats!

All through the night
The Smee delights in rat-ationation.
All through the night he’s a-spyin’ them!
All through the squeaks
Of their chirping fights
All through the leaves,
He’s a-killin’ them!
[Take it to the bridge, yo]
You’re such a good smee,
Even though you want to present us with rich gifts that repulse and cause fear,
Still, in the night, we adore you!

Mr. Lickety-Splitty

Mr. Smitty likes to lick between his claws!

It’s like reading between the lines (Or reading between licks).

Sounds unnecessarily drawn out (Prolonged, attenuated, dilatory).

ANY- way!

The Smitty likes to lick between his claws after dining, a process that takes all of three minutes.

The Licking or the dining?

Either! Both!