Squirrel UnAppreciation Day

My Twitter feed reminded me repeatedly that this is "Squirrel Appreciation Day." I could not let such a thing pass unremarked upon, now that it has come to my notice; and therefore I have written down a quick 900 words that came to me this evening. It takes place somewhere after "Fabric Factory of Horror" but before the main events of "Interstellar Conference Call". I'll fold it into a future edition of "Astounding Adventure Tales of the Improbable", maybe as part of Volume II (yeah, I'm writing it...sorta) but for now, enjoy his interlude with our hero. A glimpse into his private life, even:

Squirrel UnAppreciation Day

The alarm blared in my ear, even though I remembered turning the damn thing off the night before. More proof that the Universe hated me, which always made me feel special in a weird way. I turned it off before putting on my coat and crawling into bed. I had taken the next day -- today -- off. I always took this day off. Every boss understood, and those who did not were invited to spend some time with my scrap book full of newspaper clippings, medical records, and psychiatric profiles. They always came around, because after seeing my scrap book they knew I needed to be alone on this day. I hated this day.

I had sweated through the night with my coat on, the fur keeping me warm even though I had turned the heat back as far as January would allow. I wrapped the damp coat around me tightly as a stumbled out of bed and crossed the room to switch off the alarm before pulling the plug on the digital clock and tossing it across the room. When the alarm is nailing you in your ears, every wall is a hammer. Especially on this of all days. I hated this day.