And from her vantage point, watched the cat manage to open the closet just enough to squeeze his bulk through. “Roarke.” He glanced over where she nodded. “Well, fuck me.” He marched to the closet, came back out with a disappointed Galahad. “Banishment it is then.” As he put the cat out of the room, Eve’s ’link signaled.
Okay. Entertaining, but with all the futuristic tech and gadgets tons of money and imagination can buy, there isn't some magical facility to stash the dirty dishes in, where they're automatically cleaned and any leftover scraps are whisked off to some manner of near-magical composting drain? Not buying it. However the Auto Chef units work---a bit of fiction that's, to my mind, as unrealistic as it gets---the cleanup should be equally easy and unbelievable.
