Sparky, you’re a dead man!
If I can remind you, dear readers, of a non-mammalian family member here at the House of Flying Cats named Lt. Commander Evans. The Commander is a Roomba. He lives in the living room.
The Commander is awesome in almost every way. I can vacuum while I type, I can vacuum one room while vacuuming another. I can vacuum while watching the commander do his thing. This happens more than I’ll ever admit. But The Commander needs supervision when doing his thing in the living room. You know, the room in which he lives. I need to prepare the room, move the chair, move the curtains, pickup the kitchen rug because he gets caught on it. Not a problem at all if you don’t have to actually vacuum.
Well, Sparky has gotten his revenge. He’s been programming the Commander to run every time he’s gone.
BEEEP beep. BEEEEP beep. Over and over because he’s stuck. The Roomba, not Sparky.
I have no idea when Sparky has time to do it. I can’t find that stupid remote. For the last three weeks, the commander has been going off just as I lay down for my secret mid-morning nap or for my secret afternoon nap.