Aliens would think I’m a slave to my machine

It appears to work on chaos theory. I remember trying to inhale as much information on that once upon a time (since very interesting people were interested in chaos theory, and I wanted to lean in, so to speak), until my eyes glazed and I keeled over. I refer to the Roomba, of course, a robotic vacuum cleaner.

We bought one of these nifty gadgets, at a hefty price, at that point. But you can’t put a price on clean floors that you can literally sleep on. Besides, the husband is a gadget freak, so that decision was already taken. I may as well claim it as mine.

Not only did he (yes, it’s a he!) clean the floors, in a randomly patterned attack on dust, he could be programmed to do that at a certain time of day. Having completed his assignment, he could make his way back to a docking station to recharge.

Pretty soon, I looked at the little guy with affection, even going so far as to name him Rambo. The name was an obvious fit, a little muscle-bound creature that cleaned my floors at my bidding. It did a pole-dancing sequence of sorts around the single chrome pillar that manfully supports the kitchen’s granite slab. A gentle nudge, fascinated with this new toy, and I found that it went around my foot like a little dog; its whirring fine-action brushes cleaning the instep of my shoe.

When that peculiar delight was supplanted and replaced by a live, warm puppy, we discovered that the new addition to the family that came with a tail did not care for the standard silver Roomba racing in its direction. I’ve seen videos of cats very happily riding

I looked at the little guy with affection, even going so far as to name him Rambo. The name was an obvious fit, a little muscle-bound creature that cleaned my floors at my bidding.

a Roomba as it goes about its business but I can’t just get a cat for a hoot.

We were diligent in the maintenance and have been rewarded with exemplary service.

We’ve had Rambo for over 10 years, and he needed a spruce-up, replacement of battery and brushes, so I’ve had him shipped out for the needful. Which brings me to a point that needs to be considered. I am of the ilk that has been saying that the world is automating too fast, and that humankind will suffer if jobs are taken away in massive numbers due to automation. And yet, here I am with a robot that has insinuated itself into my life, for over a decade. I have given him a name. I clean and maintain the machine every couple of days, which might explain why the tech has delivered for so long and so well. (If an alien saw me, it would assume I was a slave employed by Rambo and my dog, since the one is tended to regularly and methodically and the other one has its poop scooped dutifully).

But, consider this. I have humanised the machine, named it, and accepted it as a part of my life. Should I think that I have been desensitised, or lulled into submission?

I’m not scared of Rambo, inasmuch as you are not scared of your fridge. He has been so useful and effective. I have more than recovered the cost, and am actually considering getting the version that also does the mopping bit. Yes, a second one, for downstairs. What will I name her? I could ask the store: “Excuse me, do you have one in flaming orange?”