Garrett (garote) wrote,

The Morning At My House

The Morning at
My House
Period Six Homework

Everybody knows that morning can be sheer terror to an oversleeper. Luckily, I'm not one of those people anymore. [LIE!] I used to get up at 6:30 and sit around until ten minutes before we leave and start getting ready then. My sisters hated it. Now I get up around 6:00 and take a shower, get dressed, brush my teeth, comb my hair, make my lunch, and get everything packed so I can have time to play my favorite computer game, The Bard's Tale III. [I did that once- the first day of school. Because I had just received it]

When I was ten years old, I was hopelessly addicted to a game called The Bard's Tale. At eleven, I developed an interest in The Bard's Tale II. [I remember when I bought it, at a software store in Los Gatos- I opened the box on the way home in the car, and read the instructions during the long trip over the hill. I spent most of the time goggling at the new Archmage spells] The Bard's Tale III is the most terribly addicting game I've ever played in my life so far, and if those geniuses at Electronic Arts don't come up with a Bard's Tale IV, I'll be playing this game forever.

A lot of the playing time in the Bard's Tale series is dedicated to fighting hordes of monsters, such as Hookfangs, Slathbeasts, Imps, Pit Monsters, Giant Alligators, Vipers, and many other devious creatures who have no other purpose but to rip your party of adventurous warriors limb from limb. You must be the victor in these battles, or you're dead and have gone to "Adventurer Heaven". (Note: Everybody in my class I've told about this game asked me, "What the heck is a bard!?" [Not exactly: it was mostly "What the HELL is a bard!?"] Well, for all you people who DON'T KNOW, it's a person who plays musical instruments and sings adventurous stories and songs to others for the heck of it, but sometimes for money as well.)

Every morning a greyish-brownish-whitish-blackish (to be prescise) stray cat, whom we named Harry (excuse me: It's Hairy), comes to our door and hollers for food. We have a black, fat, green eyed, fat, sneaky, fat, large, and very fat cat named Fred who sits by the inside of the door like a good spectator, watching the feeding of this stray cat every morning. He's not watching the cat, but he's eying that big, yummy, yellow cat food sack [Back then it was a dry kibble called Meow Mix, spelled out by cartoon cats across the front of the bag] , I carry out from the pantry, across the floor, by the refrigerator, and up to the door. The second I open the door, Fred (or Fatso, Boozer, [yes, Boozer!] Fredzola, or Freddy) rushes out the door and hides behind the corner of the house. Even though this cat is very fat, his ancestors must have been sneaky (or greedy) cats, because after I put the food in the dish and shut the door, he saunters like an emperor up to the dish and shoves poor Harry over to get that scrumptious, yummy, cat food. I always have to walk up to the door, look out the window, open the door quickly and jump straight at that nimble, fat, greedy cat and grab him before he darts away. Then, bieng the captor to the greediest cat in the world, I drop him inside and slam the door.

It's these minor victories that are an important factor in making the morning work. Well, goodbye for now. I'm going to play my favorite game! SEE YA!
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