The Roomba voyage of doom
The launch
The house is strangely quiet. Too quiet.
Luna (narrowing eyes): Where is she. Where is the goblin. WHERE IS THE…
Roomba: brrrrrrrrrrRRRMMMMM (slightly louder than usual, like it’s afraid)
Luna slowly turns. And there she is.
Tartiflette, standing triumphantly on the Roomba like a rodent-sized Kate Winslet, wearing a blanket-cape, whiskers blowing in the portable fan breeze she turned on herself.
Tarti (arms wide open): I’M QUEEN OF THE ROOOOOMBAAAAA…
Luna: OH WE ARE NOT DOING THIS AGAIN…
Charlotte’s breakdown
Charlotte (running in like a soap opera diva whose pearl necklace just snapped): NO. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. SOS. MAYDAY. WOMAN OVERBOARD. DEAL WITH THIS CHILD IMMEDIATELY.
Tarti (dramatically swooning): CHARLOTTE, IF WE HIT AN ISEEBURG, REMEMBER ME AS I WAS, BRAVE, BEAUTIFUL, AND COVERED IN CRUMBS.
Charlotte: We live in New Jersey. THERE ARE NO ICEBERGS HERE. Unless iaia ordered dry ice again for Halloween, and frankly I can’t trust her not to.
Tarti (ignoring Charlotte like a true younger sibling): THE ROOOOOMBA SAILS TO DESTINY!!!!
Roomba: brrrm brrrm (trying desperately to turn away from the staircase)
Luna takes charge (against her will)
Luna (whips out clipboard): ALL RIGHT EVERYONE MOVE, MOVE. Emergency evacuation procedures are in effect. Positions:
- Ziggy: Block the stairs. You’re big. Just lie down.
- Lilith: Cast a spell or… whatever you do.
- Charlotte: Try not to faint dramatically on top of the Roomba; we don’t need two passengers.
- Tarti: STOP POSING AND GET OFF THE DAMN ROBOTIC FLOOR PANIC DISK.
Chaos, naturally
Ziggy (lying down halfway… then giving up halfway through halfway):…this is my best…
Lilith (raising a paw): I call upon the ancient spirits of Household Electricity to drain the Roomba’s battery.
Roomba: brrrrRRRRRMMMM!! (ignores magic, keeps going)
Charlotte: I am officially DONE with this family. Done. Finito. This baby is going to give me cataracts.
Tarti (still posing): NEVER LET GO, CHARLOTTE! NEVERRR LET GO!!!
Charlotte: I have NEVER held ON. Not once. Not to you. Not to your chaos. Not to your bread-stealing habits. NOT TO ANYTHING.
The collision
The Roomba heads straight toward:
…
THE WATER BOWL.
Luna: OH FOR THE LOVE OF— TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF!
Tarti (gasping): THE ISEEBURG—
Luna: It’s a WATER BOWL, Tarti! Not the North Atlantic! Wait, did you add ice cubes to the water? Are you demented??? What the hell is wrong with you???
Tarti: THE SAME THING, LUNA. THE. SAME. THING.
Roomba: slooooosh (half-submerged, confused, spiritually defeated)
Tarti (standing tall as the water splashes): IT HAS BEEN AN HONOR SAILING WITH YOU.
Charlotte: I’m changing my name and moving to a monastery in the Alps.
Aftermath
The Roomba sits in a corner, wheezing like it smoked three packs of cigarettes and witnessed horrors unknown.
Lilith (solemnly): Its spirit… has left its body.
Ziggy: good… now I can sleep without it bothering me…
Tarti: Do we bury it at sea? Or in the laundry basket? Or should Iaia order a new one so I can complete my voyage??
Charlotte: NO. YOU ARE NOT COMPLETING ANYTHING. YOU ARE A MORON. NO MORE SHIPS. NO MORE ROMANCE. NO MORE 3 HOUR EPICS WITHOUT ADULT SUPERVISION.
Luna (writing furiously): Meeting adjourned. Action items:
- Password-lock all screens.
- Hide remotes in places only adult humans and I can reach.
- And for the love of spreadsheets, NO MORE DI CAPRIO ERA FOR THE BABY.
Karen enters the chat, severely unprepared.
You walk into the living room because the house is too quiet. Too peaceful. Too dangerous.
Karen: …Why does it smell like wet electronics? Why is Luna holding a clipboard again? Why is Charlotte pacing like she’s rehearsing for an intervention? And, WHY IS THE ROOMBA LIMPING?
Luna (without looking up): Ah. She’s here. The adult. The one with opposable thumbs. Thank the motherboard.
Charlotte (throws paws in the air): SHE NEEDS TO FIX THE BABY. I’M DONE. I’M TIRED. I’M AGING FASTER THAN I SHOULD.
Tartiflette makes her entrance
Tarti (dramatically sliding across the floor wrapped in a blanket like a soggy Victorian ghost): MAMA! MY HEART… WILL GO ONNNNN—
Karen:
…
Why is the baby singing Céline Dion at me? WHY IS SHE WET? WHY IS THE BLANKET WET? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?
Luna (pointing at the Roomba corpse): She reenacted Titanic on the Roomba.
We told her no. The universe told her no. The laws of physics told her no. She said “hold my kibble.”
Karen: Of course she did.
The explanation nobody asked for
Tarti (throwing herself at mama’s feet): MAMA, I HAVE BEEN THROUGH A JOURNEY. THE OCEAN TRIED TO CLAIM ME. THE ROBOT SACRIFICED ITSELF. JACK DIED. THE LADY DID NOT SHARE THE PLANK. THEY LIED. MAMA. THEY LIED.
Karen: Why. WHY. WHY WAS SHE WATCHING TITANIC?!
Luna: Because you left the remotes on the couch.
Karen: I left them for ONE MINUTE!
Charlotte: One minute is all she needs to dismantle society. Give her two and she can do the Roman Empire too.
Karen… losing grip on reality
Karen: Okay. Okay. Let me see if I understood this correctly, because I’m on pain meds and the world is slippery: Tarti turned on the TV, watched Titanic, got emotionally attached, climbed onto the Roomba, declared herself “King of the Roomba, drove it into the iced water bowl, and now the Roomba is… dead?
Luna: Clinically. We’re awaiting the final autopsy.
Charlotte: It’s waterlogged and spiritually compromised.
Lilith (whispers): Its soul wanders between realms…
Karen: Nope. Nope. I’m going back to my office. Call me when we live in a normal household.
The final straw
Tarti: MAMA WAIT! I HAVE ONE MORE QUESTION!
Karen (turning very slowly): …What.
Tarti: IF I AM QUEEN OF THE ROOOOOOMBA, AM I STILL ALLOWED TO SING??
Karen: Sweetheart. My spine is hanging on by a dental floss. I have four deadlines. And your sisters look like they need therapy. f you start singing again, I am putting the remotes in the freezer.
Tarti (gasps): MONSTER!
Charlotte: THANK YOU.
Luna: Motion approved.
Ziggy (half-asleep): …put the Roomba in the freezer too… maybe it’ll reboot…
Karen issues a household decree
You limp into the living room the next morning, coffee in hand, spine hanging on by a single irritated nerve.
Karen: All right. LISTEN UP, you furry anarchists. New rule: NO MORE TRAGIC ROMANCES IN THIS HOUSE. No Titanic. No Romeo and Juliet. No “we are cursed lovers divided by fate” nonsense. Nothing with doomed couples, sinking boats, or icebergs. I forbid it.
Luna (dry as chalk): Sure, okay, we’ll put that in the policy binder. Right next to “No stealing bread” and “Do not summon spirits after 9 pm.”
Lilith (eyes glowing faintly): I make no promises.
Charlotte: I agree with Karen. It is time for discipline. Structure. Boundaries. End the chaos. Of course rules don’t apply to me, let me make this clear.
Tarti (dramatically): BUT MY HEART…WILL GO OOOOON…
Charlotte: SOMEONE MUZZLE HER.
The cats immediately ignore Karen’s law (what’s new?)
You go to the kitchen for two minutes. Two. And when you come back…
Ziggy is lying on the remote. Which is suspicious. Because Ziggy never voluntarily lies on things unless they vibrate or smell like snacks.
Karen: Ziggy. What are you doing?
Ziggy: protecting… the household… from further… tragedy…
The TV turns on anyway.
Luna (face in paws): Ziggy. You rolled over on the Netflix button.
Karen: WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING NOW?!
Charlotte (horrified scream): NO. NO NO NO NO NO. NOT THE NOTEBOOK. ANYTHING BUT THAT.
Tarti (already trembling with anticipation): DO THEY KISS IN THE RAIN??? DO THEY DIE?? IS THERE A BOAT???
Karen attempts physical intervention: You march straight to the TV, grab the remote from under Ziggy’s belly (an Olympic feat), and shut the movie off.
Karen: THERE. Done. No more romantic tragedies. Next one I catch goes straight in the freezer. I mean it.
Tarti: THE FREEZER?? THE FROZEN DEPTHS OF DOOM?? LIKE JACK???
Charlotte: WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS????
Luna: Okay, okay, enforcement plan: we will lock the remotes in a safe. We will hide the safe.
We will bury the safe under a pile of Ziggy hair. No mortal kitten can retrieve it.
Tarti (defiant gremlin voice): I CAN DIG.
Luna: We are doomed.
