The Human Has Been Taken
I always knew something was off about my human. He’s a decent enough servant—he refills my food bowl, scoops my litter (despite my best efforts to stop him), and offers the occasional belly rub (which I tolerate for exactly 2.5 seconds before attacking).
But at night… something strange happens.
Every evening, he straps a bizarre contraption onto his face. A long, slithering tube connects it to a mysterious humming machine. It hisses, it breathes—it moves like a living creature. I suspect it is an alien parasite.
At first, I thought my human had simply made an incredibly poor life choice. Humans do this all the time. They wear pants (why?), willingly bathe (insanity), and eat vegetables when perfectly good meat exists. But this? This was next level stupidity.
It starts with the face-hugging device. I watch from the foot of the bed as it latches onto him, its tendrils wrapped around his head. He doesn’t even resist! He just… accepts it. Like a fool.
I have considered the possibilities:
It’s an alien symbiote taking control of his body. Soon, he will no longer be my human, but a thrall of the Machine Overlords.
It’s a face-hugger incubation device. Any night now, I fully expect tiny aliens to burst from his chest.
It’s here for me. This… thing must be a scout, studying humans before its species invades. And when they come? They’ll steal our food. Or worse… they’ll eat cats.
I cannot allow this.
Operation: CPAP Extraction
Phase One: The Sniff Test
I approach with caution. The contraption hisses at me. I hiss back. It does not flee. I am dealing with an advanced species.
Phase Two: The Bat & Grab
Using my superior paw coordination, I give the tube a few experimental smacks. It wiggles but does not detach. I bite it. Still nothing. This thing has a grip stronger than the demon vacuum.
Phase Three: The Chaos Approach
If subtlety won’t work, I must escalate. I jump on the human’s chest. He groans. I begin my next phase: The Loudest 3 AM Zoomies Known to Man.
I gallop across his sleeping form. I knock over a lamp. I launch myself onto his face and—YES! The alien loosens its grip!
The human jolts awake, flailing. “Wha—?! Whiskers! What the hell?!”
Success! The symbiote is removed! He gasps, dazed, confused, and—
…Oh. He’s putting it back on.
I stare in horror as he willingly reattaches the alien to his face. He mumbles something about “needing it to breathe” and falls back asleep.
The invasion is already complete.
Fine. I’ll let this go. For now. But if I see one tiny alien baby skitter across the floor, I’m peeing in his shoes.
