After Mom died, Dad needed a little help around the house.
So, he bought a robot grandmother.
No, she didn’t run on electricity, like the grandmother in Ray Bradbury’s story.
This grandmother ran on coal.
She was as big as a locomotive.
And we had to shovel coal into her boiler every twenty minutes.
She belched smoke and ash and carbon monoxide.
We had to keep the windows open, or we’d suffocate.
At least she was warm in the Winter.
When Dad remarried, we packed Grandma into a box. And buried her.
Our real Grandma. Because she died of something.