The thermostat blinked red. Again. Clara stared at the wall-mounted device, its screen displaying “ERROR 404: COMFORT NOT FOUND.” She’d spent 20 minutes reprogramming it to “AUTO” mode, only to discover it had opted for “SAD CAT.” The HVAC unit wheezed like a dying accordion.
“Okay, buddy,” she said, jabbing the touchscreen. “Let’s try this again.” The thermostat flickered, then announced, “TEMPERATURE: 92 DEGREES. YOU ARE WELCOMED.” Clara’s hair stuck to her neck. She yanked the cover off the wall, revealing a tangle of wires that looked like a snake had nested in her living room.
Her neighbor, Mr. Pritchard, appeared in the doorway. “Trouble with the newfangled thing?” He gestured at the mess. “I had one that screamed at me for two weeks. Turned out it was just hungry.” He held up a bag of cat treats. “Try feeding it. Works every time.”
Clara stared at the wires. “It’s a thermostat.”
“Could be a cat,” he said, shrugging. “Or a disgruntled raccoon. You never know.”
The HVAC unit let out a final, pitiful whine and died. Clara stood in silence, sweat dripping into her socks. Then, miraculously, the thermostat switched to “AUTO” and hummed to life. The air blew cold—exactly 72 degrees. Clara sighed, collapsing onto the couch.
Mr. Pritchard nodded. “See? All it needed was a little love. Or a snack.” He drifted away, leaving Clara to wonder if her home had just developed a personality—and whether it hated her.
