Zoe's tale of horror

Zoe thinks she is being stalked.  She keeps a protective eye on her dinner and water dishes.  The iRobot roomba has threatened her territory.

I came home from an afternoon of shopping and found Bob sitting at his computer with an alert Zoe, ears up, on his lap.  “How was your day?” I asked. 

“I’m just exhausted.” Bob replied, “Don’t your hear the noise?”

Then it came to me.  He had purchased a new toy.  Sure enough, the roomba was swirling under the chairs and beds, doing the hula down the hallway, and heading back to its dock to be recharged.  I think I heard Zoe breathe the inevitable sigh of relief when the quiet returned.  Bob calls the robot “Mr. Roomba,” but Zoe is convinced it’s actually possessed and has dubbed it “Chucky.”

Since Bob retired, we’ve split the housework.  He’s in charge of floors, while I dust and clean the bathrooms.  With the faux wooden floors we have throughout the condo and the light coming in through the three sets of sliding glass doors, dust bunnies seem to be reproducing at an exaggerated rate.  Bob turned toward technology to replace his time behind the electric broom.  I’d be more satisfied with its performance if it did a better job on corners and mopped.  Probably the next generation will be so programmed.  (Now was I talking about roombas or men?)

Zoe has adapted pretty well to the robot now and usually escapes to our bed for a rest when she recognizes it has awakened.  However, since we moved a chaise lounge to the end of the bed, she has found another favorite place to nap.  It has long been my dream to have a fainting couch to snuggle in during the hours I spend reading, and this is a delightful luxury.  Luckily, Zoe shares it with me.  Bob, in jest, calls it the most expensive dog bed ever, and when I put our pole lamp with its three lights by it, he named it Zoe’s personal tanning couch.  She is unaware of all this though as she lays her head on the pillow and dreams of chasing the black squirrels.