My mission was to scout ahead for the pre-invasion force. The commander decided to transport me down to Earth in the form of a dog. A white, fluffy dog, to be precise. They dropped me in the middle of a place called New York City with orders to avoid contact and determine how much firepower we needed to conquer the humans.

Piece of cake, as the natives would say.

Avoiding contact was easy. They were all too busy staring at their communication screens. Everyone had them, and those who didn’t would stop at stare at the ones on top of buildings or in store windows. Most of them were communicating with primitive symbols or watching silly cat videos. My job was done. We’d have no trouble invading this planet.

I sent a message to the mother ship to pick me up and trotted across the street to wait. Suddenly a human driving a yellow and black vehicle barreled toward me. I froze. Horns blared. A voice screamed, “Not the dog!”

A young girl dashed into the street and scooped me in her arms. “You’re okay,” she whispered and carried me to safety. “You look just like my Fluffy. I still miss her. Do you have a home?”

Then I felt it. Love. That tail of mine started wagging and I had the sudden urge to lick the girl’s nose.

I cancelled my transport and the invasion. I wanted to stay a while for snuggles and bacon treats.