It's a Gary POVfic. Something different, I guess. Plus, I made Gary intelligent (as hinted in certain episodes) and prone to monologuing. :P Enjoy.
I was woken up by my master's ghastly foghorn, as usual. Of course, I'm not sure why I'm still shaken by that poor excuse of an alarm clock. I guess certain things in life always surprise you, no matter how many times you experience it.
My master jumps out of his bed and shouted, "Good morning, Bikini Bottom!", like the happy sponge he was. My master always seems to be happy. I have never met another creature who could be as eternally idealistic as him. His happiness seems to be superhuman; no wonder that Squidward fellow always seems to be annoyed at him.
"Good morning, Gary!" my master greets me from his bed. I can only reply, "Meow." Curse my lack of vocal chords. As the sponge jumps out of bed and runs to the bathroom to get changed for work, I leave my newspaper bed and start slithering downstairs to the kitchen to make his breakfast. To be honest, I don't really understand why my master has no objections to me making his breakfast. Everyone else would surely think it was unbelievable and unhygienic.
I can hear the sponge climbing down the stairs, now. I'm almost finished making his breakfast of toast. He is singing a jolly tune as he climbs down. The usual routine.
He walks into the kitchen and sniffs the air. He rushes over to the table, excited. I place the freshly-cooked toast onto the plate and carry it to the table. The sponge eats it, with a delighted expression. All I can do for a while is watch – afterwards, he will make my breakfast of snail food.
"Mmm, Gary! That was lovely!" he exclaims after finishing his meal. I become proud from his positive comment. He then says, "The toast could have been darker, though." I feel slightly peeved by his criticism, but I learn to take it; there's always room for improvement for everything in life.
My master then makes my snail food breakfast. If I know how to cook, then surely I can make my own (probably better-tasting) breakfast? But I guess I forget.
As I eat my food, he grabs his faithful spatula and goes to the door. He calls out, "I'm off to work now, Garebear!" 'Garebear'. His special pet name for me. I don't really object to the name, but I can't help but wonder if the nickname was a part of his immaturity.
He opens the door, smiles and says "See ya' later, Gare!", then waves me goodbye and closes it. I carry on eating until I'm finished, then I crawl to the living room. I then decide to check if the newspaper has come. No, it hasn't. I'll be bored for about an hour until the mailman comes. Oh well, at least I know how to work the TV.
My life with the sponge is mixed – on one hand, it is sometimes annoying and ridiculous for me to act more mature than my master, and at worst, he either becomes cross at me or forgets about me. On the other hand, he really and truly does care about me, and we're both willing to forgive each other for silly things.
So, would I rather live somewhere else than with an immature sponge?
No. I wouldn't live anywhere else.
Hmm, didn't realise that this is shorter than what I usually write. :|
Read and review, anyway. :P