The continuing exploits of Mr. Finnegan as he conquers the world with his cuteness.

As I approach my later years, or year in this case, I discover that much has been planned for me. One such plan was the unforeseen party I attended this week’s end past. It was a festival of delights, filled with excitement and whimsy.

There were presents, all of which were much to my liking. One present was put to use right away, for it is to be stored for a later date. This present was a Red Flyer wagon, a chariot for my future sallies into the maelstrom. Like any pharaoh of ancient Egypt I stood triumphant awaiting my retainers who will pull me about my dominion.

Chariot of the Gods

Come! Let us away before the break of day!

Also: Let them eat cake!

Henry VIII was just as messy

I have about one week until I will be officially one year old. How to put this in perspective will be the coming challenge. The world of numbers seems to hold many mysteries that I feel I should start to investigate. I have been told that the number one is only the beginning of numbers, and yet here I am so old and wise and long on the earth and I am told that my age in “years” is but “one”. Surely this is a mistake.

I have of late, I know not wherefore how, lost all my mirth.

Wait, strike that, I should say “lost all my youth”. Mother and Father have been watching too much Hamlet, and I do not mean the cat. I have lost all my youth. Where has it gone? I do not know.

I do know that I am old beyond years. Actually I don’t have any years, but these 8 months have been plenty long. I really am very old.

Mother assisting an aged gentleman

Fetch me my cane, for I must away.

So long have I lived that I fear that life has no more surprises to offer. I can crawl, I can eat mashed carrots, I can throw things on the floor and occasionally pick them back up. Is there more? Is that not enough? These are the questions that plague me when I take the time to ponder them. Which is to say never.

Father just reminded me that 8 months is actually very young indeed, and that I have the whole of my life ahead of me, including most of what I will enjoy the most. He poses me the question of whether talking or walking will be my favorite life’s work. He has failed to consider that it might be the combination of both.