lol!  that's cute!  And i was going to get one... still might, but how well
does it work?  O/t... i know!

Jenifer Gilley
Christ came that we may have life everlasting!
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-----Original Message-----
From: The Electronic Church [mailto:[log in to unmask]]On
Behalf Of Reeva Parry
Sent: Wednesday, May 07, 2008 5:20 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: The Roomba


Viva La Roombalución!
Roombonkers!


Chapter 1: Vrrrrrrrroomba!


I get home from the post office, and the Roomba
is all charged up and ready to go. I have
provisionally named the Roomba "RoomBob," knowing
that I will have to pick another name, for it,
eventually, because I have already named my plant
Bob. (Shut up.) I carry the Roomba into the
bedroom, and put it on the floor, but before I
turn the power on, I stop and observe the cats,
both sleeping, each stretched out peacefully in
his own sunbeam, unaware of the horror that
awaits. I turn the power on. The Roomba sings a
little song, just a few happy little "ready to
work now" notes; Little Joe opens one eye,
regards the large, flat, round beetle on the
floor, and goes back to sleep, but Hobey is immediately suspicious.

"Sorry, cats," I say to them, although I am not
really sorry at all, and hit the "clean" button,
and as the Roomba cranks up to full whir, and
does its little starting pirouette, Hobey gives
me a glare that could cut glass, and bolts under
the bed. Little Joe, still half asleep, scrambles
down from his chair, and heads for the bedroom
door, at which time the Roomba shoots back out
from under the dresser in front of Joe, and heads
for the bookcase at the back of the room. Joe
jumps a foot in the air, and gallops into the closet, and hides in a boot.
Heh.


Chapter 2: The Love Song of J. Alfred Proomba


In the room the felines come and go
Talking of "Oh HELL no."


So, Hobey's under the bed, Joe's in the closet,
and the Roomba is courting the back tire of my bicycle.

When a Roomba hits something, it turns a little,
and keeps Roombonking into it, until it either
figures out where the edge lies, or it gets sick
of the bonking, and whirs off at a right angle to
go do something else, but my Roomba can't quite
figure out the bike, so it's Roombumbling around
and conking into the kickstand, and the bike is
just sort of standing there, the striped cat to
the Roomba's Pepe Le Pew. "Aw," I say. "It's the
Love Song of J. Alfred Proomba."

But the Roomba is really, really into the
bicycle--it's, like, nuzzling the gears, and I'm
on the point of telling the two of them to get a
roomba, when the Roomba suddenly makes a
Roombeeline under the bed. You can see where this is going.

Joe is just sticking his head out of the closet,
when Hobey, whose tail is so incredibly fat, that
he looks like a funny car trailing a parachute,
shoots out from under the bed, and hauls ass down
the hallway to the living room. Joe's like, "What
the he-- AAAAAAAAACK!" because hard on Hobey's
heels is the Roomba, which is now wearing a giant
seventies-porno mustache of lint and cat hair and
is, if anything, even more determined to have its
way with my bicycle than before. ... Until.

Joe, seeing an opening, is worm-squirming towards
the door, when, I swear to God, the Roomba sees
him, and gives chase. Yeah, yeah, "it can't
possibly tell."--it can tell. It knows. Joe pulls
a "you've gotta be kidding" face, and trots down
the hallway, and the Roomba Roombarrels determinedly after him.


Chapter 3: Flight of the Roomblebee



I follow all three of my pets into the kitchen.
Hobey is treed on top of the microwave, which is
on top of the fridge, and is hiding, hilariously,
behind an avocado. Whatever. Joe is tucked under the couch.

The Roomba is eating their food.

No, really. The Roomba is Roombashing into their
bowl; the bowl is tipping from side to side;
kibble is spilling out; the Roomba is sucking up
the kibble. I think the Roomba hates my cats. I
think I love the Roomba. Roombolero!

Then the Roomba Roompages over to my standing
ashtray, and tries to climb it, zips over to the
couch and Roombumps into it fifteen times, eats
and spits out a phone cord, vacuums my boot, and
disappears under the couch. Exit Joe, followed by
the Roomba, which has a cat toy trapped in its
undercarriage, a state of affairs that causes
great conflict for the cats--there's the cat toy,
zipping along enticingly on the floor, but in the jaws of their mortal
enemy.


Chapter 4: Roombikaze


Satisfied that the Roomba won't suck up anything
harmful, I retire to the bedroom--also my home
office--to post a recap. Occasionally, out of the
corner of my eye, I can see a cat dashing across
the room, followed by the Roomba. The other cat
fleeing ... Roomba ... cat ... Roomba ... cat ... Roomba ... cat ... Roomba.

Finally, the cats figure it out, and skulk back
into the bedroom, and flop down on the bedroom
floor, exhausted. The whirring of the Roomba
issues faintly from the other room, as it cleans
under the kitchen table and near the coat rack. The cats begin to relax.

Roombig mistake. I hear the clarion
ka-chonka-chonka-chonka-chonka that means the
Roomba has clambered onto the kitchen tile, and
is heading our way, and I point to the hallway: "Um ... cats?"

Cats: "[Zzzzz.]"

Roomba: "[Chonka-chonka-chonka-rrrrrrrt-chonka-chonka.]"

Sarah: "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Roomba: "[Chonka-chonka-chonka…RRRRRRRRRT!]"

The Roomba heaves into view at the end of the
hall, spots the cats, and picks up speed. I swear
to God. Hobey slinks under the desk, and Joe sort
of stomps toward the closet, all put-upon, but
the Roomba enters the room, as Joe's passing in
front of it, and when it spots him, its "dirt detect" light goes on.

The Roomba thinks Little Joe is a 16-pound ball
of dirt. The Roomba wants to eat Little Joe.
Love!


Chapter 5: Roombellissimo


By the time the Roomba finishes its
Roombinistrations, sings its little "all done!"
song, and shuts off in the middle of the living
room, the cats have pretty much stopped caring.
It isn't as loud as the Hoover, or as big, and
they can hide from it if they pick a safe surface
that isn't the floor--not that they've quite
grasped that, of course, so the Roomba follows
them around, all little Roombrother "I wanna play
with you guys!" and the cats keep appealing
silently to me like, "Mom, make it quit
Roombugging us." Poor J. Alfred, Roombarding my
apartment with its whirry, indiscriminate love.

Postscript: Roombrilliant

"How well does it clean?" What do you mean--wait,
it cleans, too? Roombest invention ever!
[Thank you so much to reader JH, who sent me the
Roomba. Under my bed has never looked so clean.
You're a peach-ba. Propper thank-you!