Tidying UpCW: Petplay, intelligence play, the joy of being a Roomba?
TARGET IDENTIFIED
Your sensors lock on the pile of dust, a red box locking in over the patch of carpet, and your wheels begin to spin up.
“No.”
Mistress’ voice makes you freeze, gears disengaging with a snap.
“I didn’t hit the button,” she says casually as she drops another bag of dirt, setting off a fresh alarm.
Your processes are demanding you spin up your brushes, that you surge forward, that you fulfill your function, but Mistress is right.
She didn’t hit the button.
You must not move until she hits the button.
It’s a struggle, but you force down the urges.
“Good girl.”
You feel your fans spinning up at her praise, trying not to rock back and forth in your charging cradle.
“Oh, darn.” Her voice drips with
