When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? An astronaut? A ballerina? A scientist? Whatever it was, I bet it wasn’t a pet. Specifically the pet of a huge, muscular, arrogant Alien Overlord.
I never wanted to be a pet either, but that seems to be my fate. I was sucked through the bathroom mirror at my Great Aunt’s house by these little blue guys called “Commercians” who run a service called The Alien Mate Index. They sold me to a huge alien with horns and a tail who told me I may call him “Master” or “Sir.” He made me wear a collar and taught me to walk on leash and even tried to get me to eat “human chow!” But don’t worry—he’s not one of those crazy owners who forces their pet to wear clothing. No—Sir thinks that clothes on a pet look “ridiculous” so guess who gets to run around his spaceship bare-ass naked all day? I’ll give you two guesses and both of them are “me.”
This isn’t a fate I chose and I’m determined to escape from Sir and find my way back to Earth. But things start getting sticky when he claims that he bought me for a purpose much larger than the two of us. Does the fate of my galaxy really rest on my shoulders? And why does it require so much extra “training” of the spicy variety? Will I ever get back to my own planet and eat a cheeseburger instead of that disgusting human chow?