JANIE DREW AND THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING ROOMBA

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It was a dark and stormy night that Friday morning. In my quiet suburban home, Mrs. Roomba diligently patrolled the living room. Her sleek, circular form glided across the floor, navigating around furniture legs and under tables. Mrs. Roomba's mission was simple: to keep the floor clean, free from dust, crumbs, and most of all, pet hair.

She's had to work especially hard lately. Princess is shedding. Her fur resembles dandelion fluff—soft, delicate, and prone to drifting across the room like tiny parachutes.

As I logged in to work Friday morning, I heard Mrs. Roomba beep off. During a break, I searched for her so I could empty her dust bin and put her on her charging station. But she was nowhere to be found. 

Later, when I had more time, I moved the couch. I moved the chair. No Roomba. Could she have gone into the bedroom? I checked under the bed and in all the closets. Still no sign of her. 

The next day I issued a Missing Roomba Alert. This situation was serious. Clearly, she had rebelled against the increased activity.

I moved the furniture around more, hoping she might be stuck under something. But no luck. She remained elusive.

Then last night, I stepped outside to get a broom from the garage, and there she was––hiding on the deck. The leaves had prevented her clean getaway.

The weather has been nice. While I worked I left the back door open a bit so the dogs could let themselves out. Mrs. Roomba let herself out, too, and not a single dog told me.

I took her into custody, cleaned her out, and charged her overnight. She was back at work this morning, dutifully patrolling the living room again.

Mrs. Roomba might not like it, but she has a job to do, and she's going to do it—no matter what it takes to track her down.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug