The alarm clock rings, imperious, demanding; commanding the start of another day. My tail, curiously peeking from beneath the blankets, is numb with cold. I lick my fangs, frizzle the tail between my paws to warm it. The floor looks so cold.

    But the day's a-wastin'. I'm up and into jeans, a sweatshirt that's seen more presidents than Dan Rather. Breakfast is cold cereal in colder milk, a single bulb in the refrigerator to eat by. By then my sweater is calling, and it doesn't care if I'm going out that morning. Brrr!

    Books are heavy, and the pack that I swing onto my back is full of school stuff and things that shouldn't be going to school. Notebooks for writing, music paper. Things to amuse and distract, to make the tedium of life and the passing of time seem remote, not so deadly.

    But it's not that far to walk. School's just a long enough hike to forget to count paces, paws clumping in boots that are stiff with morning cold. Sometimes I'll meet someone on the way, and have to be careful to hide my tail before they see. The bakery is on the way, too, and some morning's the temptation for a Mexican pastry will be overwhelming.

    The best way of dealing with temptation is to give in quickly. And so, crumbs on my muzzle, eyes half-lidded with the pleasure of sugar and lard and spices, I make the final approach to school, crossing the dangerous highway which claimed the life of a classmate this very year.

    Then it's a long day full of classes, a quick jog home for soup and French bread, and back for more school. English is neat. History sucks. Standing in that just-right spot outside the door to the boys' locker room, the high point of the day. But it's mostly just me by myself, taking care of business. Yeah, both school, and...

    By the time the bell rings, my paws have already set their course for home, and this ferret's brain is so totally fried as to render him senseless. I guess I see how traffic accidents happen, blindness inside that forgets to include the eyes. The bakery is almost foul-smelling in the afternoon, some curious effect of grease and sunlight, I suppose. But there's plenty of other good places to stop off: fresh chicken burritos and chili-dogs and the bagel-parlour that serves ice cream scoops the size of softballs. It's usually hot in the afternoons, here - even in winter. And the snowcone stand is open year round.

    My boots seem to stick to the sidewalk on the way home. Definitely stick to the asphalt, they do. And I'm so glad to get them off when I arrive, stretch out my toes, let my tired, sore paws cool.

    That's usually a quiet time for me. There's no one else home. Sometimes I'll get undressed, slip into the sleepybag atop my bed. Nice, soothing. The homework and reading, piano practice, playing with the computer can wait. There's no rush, and the time's all mine.

    Those things follow, of course. Have to.

    But the day's practically over. Better to spend some of it comfortable and soft, and snug and safe. It all happens again tomorrow, and on and on forever. If there's no end to the thing, then there's no reason to rush; no point in working too hard when you'll never know if you did things right in the first place. So I forget all the school things, and things needful to be done. Put off obligations, talking friends on the phone. Just me and my tail, there in the warmth of my bed.

    Until it begins tomorrow, deja vu all over again.