“How can you love a vacuum cleaner?”

“You don’t understand. This is not just any vacuum cleaner. This is the Roomba. Do you see how cute she is? How red and circular, how she sits in her little home waiting for me to press her power button.”

“Uh huh. And Roomba?”

“She’s a vacuum cleaning robot, the first of its kind. I bought her for the Castle yesterday. She’s already successfully cleaned the first and second floor. Tomorrow, after she finishes charging—look how cute she is! Her blinking red light, so eager to clean, so ready—she’ll clean the third floor. She leaves little Roomba marks on the floor—they look like tank-tread marks as she crisscrosses the rug—so you know she’s done her job.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Worried about what? About Roomba? No, no. She’s just a robot. I have within me the capacity to love both a vacuum cleaner and a Doolies.”

“In what order?”

“I just bought the Roomba—it’s not fair for me to judge this early in the relationship.”

“It would be very sad if Roomba had a little accident. Perhaps an accidental fall from the second floor. That would be very sad, very sad indeed.”

“It’s okay, darling Roomba. She doesn’t know of what she speaks. She doesn’t mean it. She just doesn’t know you yet. Once you meet her, it’ll be different. She will accept you for the beautiful machine that you are. She’ll look past the red makeup and see your inner beauty, just like I do.”

“Are you still talking to the Roomba?”

“What? Oh. No, of course not. I’m listening to your story. Is that what the patient said. Unbelievable. I can’t believe it. Please, do go on.”

“I’m watching you and your little friend. I’m watching very closely.”