Woke up this morning to find my Christmas-present Roomba (it SO needs a kitten tackling it as an accessory) under my footrest, pulling on the edge of the fringe from Robert’s medicine blanket as if it were a child sucking its fingers, a missed Christmas tag wrapped around its wheel. It couldn’t have what it wanted, so it had shut down and was hiding under there with its security blanket. My lazy kate, which had been several feet away, was tucked right by it under there. Spinning, weaving, yarn–it’s got good taste.
Don’t look at me, I’m not a trained Roomba-tologist.