As we approach the sixteenth celebration of Harrigan’s birth, certain responsibilities start clanging my subconscious bells. We’ll need pictures. And an Iams Cake. What about a party?
Obviously, for his audience, he must be presentable: clean, neat, bangs trimmed, claws clipped, glands purged. (That may sound a little dog-show-ish, but really, he feels much better after a grooming. The breeze flows through his long multihued fur as he assumes a jaunty canter. I myself feel much more streamlined after my semi-annual $14 haircut next to the Wall Street Subway entrance. Though the next morning, looking in the bathroom mirror, I admit to creeping homicidal tendencies towards the scissors-wielder. Of course, that is really transference of the more appropriate quinquagenary-phobic suicidal inevitability. But I digress.)
Anyway, this being an excuse to post a couple of really cute pictures of Harry “then” . . . so that when we see him later “now” we’ll be sufficiently moved by the grinding passage of time . . . without further dissemblance . . .
