I finally bought myself one of those handy little robotic vacuum cleaners that promised clean floors without the guidance of the human hand. I called it ‘Boo Ray’ and took it home, plugged it into its charging station and waited for it to reach full charge. I couldn’t wait to try it out and see if it really delivered what it promised.

It wasn’t long before Boo Ray and I had formed a close relationship. It scooted around the floors of my home like a professional maid, its tiny side brushes twirling frantically scooping out dust and such with efficiency. Its happy little hum brought a smile to my face and satisfaction to my need to clean. I sat at the kitchen bar sipping on a glass of cold sweet tea watching it scoot here and there going under the dining room table, darting under the couches in the nearby room and into other places my big vac just couldn’t reach. It was pure bliss. I sent out telepathic accolades to the human mind that conceived such wonders as my Boo Ray.

This went on for several months, Boo Ray cleaning, me watching. The only service that I was required to do was to empty the dust tray attached to the bottom of the technological wonder – which I did without murmur or complaint. There were occasions wherein I had to rescue it from under one of the couches where it had gotten stuck, but that was no problem! We had the perfect relationship – as far as one can have a relationship with a cleaning device.

Then, it happened. One fine day I set Boo Ray off to do its job, while occupying myself with other household chores. I listened to it as it scooted here and there grabbing dirt and dust like a pro. I went into the laundry room moving the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer, buzzed up the stairs to do some cleaning, then returned downstairs. I immediately sensed that something was different. It was too quiet. Where was the happy sound of Boo Ray’s wheels?

I searched high and low, mostly low. I looked under couches, around recliners, under the bed, in the corners and behind the one hundred family relics and heirlooms with which I have been blessed. I pressed the ‘Home’ button on the charging station at least twenty times. No Boo Ray! I even whistled and called its name. No response. Just silence.

I confess, I felt a little panic and my heart missed a beat or two. If Boo Ray wasn’t found, I must start pushing an upright vac around the house again. It would require effort and a little sweat. Gone were the days of kicking up my feet, sipping tea, and watching the floor vac wonder do its job. It was unacceptable!

What happened to Boo Ray?

The end of this fantastic tale is that I still haven’t found my amazing and evasive robotic vac. I have gone on additional searches to no avail. I think of Boo Ray every time I pull out the Dyson and start lugging it around to clean the floors of my home. I’m bitter. Lonely. Disgusted. But I refuse to buy another just to have it find Boo Ray and form some kind of technological alliance.

I know Boo Ray is hiding out just beyond my realm of vision watching me with its robotic eye and laughing at my puny human limitations to locate it. However, I do have the satisfaction of knowing one day, when I’m gone from this old world and someone is cleaning out my house, Boo Ray will finally be found and tossed into the garbage without a second thought. Good riddance, Boo Ray! It was lovely while it lasted. In the meantime, I’ve just acquired a brand new robotic ‘mop’! Woo hoo!