"There Will Come Soft Rains" a year from today

Easily my all-time favorite short story is "There Will Come Soft Rains" by Ray Bradbury. (If you haven't read it, just Google it and you'll find a PDF—seemingly half the schools on earth assign it.)

The story takes place exactly a year from now, on August 4th, 2026. In just a few pages, Bradbury recounts the events of the final day of a fully-automated home that somehow survives an apocalyptic nuclear blast, only to continue operating without any surviving inhabitants. Apart from being a cautionary tale, it's genuinely remarkable that—despite being written 75 years ago—it so closely captures many of the aspects of the modern smarthome. When sci-fi authors nail a prediction at any point in the future, people tend to give them a lot of credit, but this guy called his shot by naming the drop-dead date (literally).

I mean, look at this house.

It's got Roombas:

Out of warrens in the wall, tiny robot mice darted. The rooms were a crawl with the small cleaning animals, all rubber and metal. They thudded against chairs, whirling their moustached runners, kneading the rug nap, sucking gently at hidden dust. Then, like mysterious invaders, they popped into their burrows. Their pink electric eyes faded. The house was clean.

It's got smart sprinklers:

The garden sprinklers whirled up in golden founts, filling the soft morning air with scatterings of brightness. The water pelted window panes…

It's got a smart oven:

In the kitchen the breakfast stove gave a hissing sigh and ejected from its warm interior eight pieces of perfectly browned toast, eight eggs sunny side up, sixteen slices of bacon, two coffees, and two cool glasses of milk.

It's got a video doorbell and smart lock:

Until this day, how well the house had kept its peace. How carefully it had inquired, "Who goes there? What's the password?" and, getting no answer from lonely foxes and whining cats, it had shut up its windows and drawn shades in an old-maidenly preoccupation with self-protection which bordered on a mechanical paranoia.

It's got a Chamberlain MyQ subscription, apparently:

Outside, the garage chimed and lifted its door to reveal the waiting car. After a long wait the door swung down again.

It's got bedtime story projectors, for the kids:

The nursery walls glowed.

Animals took shape: yellow giraffes, blue lions, pink antelopes, lilac panthers cavorting in crystal substance. The walls were glass. They looked out upon color and fantasy. Hidden films clocked through well-oiled sprockets, and the walls lived.

It's got one of those auto-filling bath tubs from Japan:

Five o'clock. The bath filled with clear hot water.

Best of all, it's got a robot that knows how to mix a martini:

Bridge tables sprouted from patio walls. Playing cards fluttered onto pads in a shower of pips. Martinis manifested on an oaken bench with egg-salad sandwiches. Music played.

All that's missing is the nuclear apocalypse! But like I said, we've got a whole year left.