Hey Mom! 🐾✨ Corbin here, aka Corbeebee. Just saved Pawsburgh by turning an ET mix-up into the wildest intergalactic party ever! Served alien guests chicken treats and swapped Insta IDs instead of doing the whole ‘war of the worlds’ shtick. Added ‘Cosmic Ambassador’ to my list of cool titles. Saving the universe, one pancake at a time. 🥞👽 #HeroInASuit #BathTimeCanWait 🛁

Oh, hey there! It’s your dapper buddy, Corbin. If anyone knows how to make a story as snazzy as his own bat-mask markings, it’s me. So, this one time in Pawsburgh… well, it wasn’t just another trot down Whippet Way. Sit tight, ‘cause you’re about to hear how I turned an ET bust-up into a cosmic keg party.

I was chillin’ at the Barkin’ Brunch, woofing down my fave — a hefty bowl of savory chicken à la Golden Grub — when the ground quivered like a Chihuahua on a cold day. I’m no alarmist, but I didn’t think my enthusiastic eating was enough to move the Earth. The clatter from The Furry Friends Art Gallery told me I wasn’t alone in my confusion.

That’s when things got a tad too Spielberg for comfort. These bizarre, glowy thingamabobs (ETs, if you’re slow on the pickup), started some majestic floaty thing down Akita Alley. I mean, listen, I’m all for interstellar diversity, but trespassing is still a no-no in my Pawsburgh.

Prescott and Tigger locked eyes with me. Moments like this? They scream “hero moment,” and nothing gets between me and my deluded sense of grandeur. We were the original squad goals, so we zipped over to Dachshund Dale. With the swagger of someone who owns not one, but TWO tweed suits, I devised the plan to send E.T. phone home.

“Okay, so I’m no Will Smith, but let’s get jiggy with saving Earth,” I barked, feeling a bit like a four-legged Mindy Kaling in space-themed kicks. “We set up a trap! A big, fat, welcome party — kitschy, with bad food and worse music. They’ll be high-tailing it faster than a hound after a squirrel.”

As the ETs hovered closer to Barking Brunch, we rounded up the Barking Brunch bunch and hit up The Howling Husky Hardware Store. Not to toot my own horn (toot toot), but if there’s anything that ticks all the boxes of “universal blast,” it’s my paw-tastic playlist and the lure of Paw-lickin’ Pancakes. The smell is enough to deactivate any alien shields, know what I mean?

Bam, just like that, we threw together Pawsburgh’s first Intergalactic House Party. I mean, I love a good shindig, and living with humans made me a master at the “parents out of town” bash. Add in some doomsday vibes, and this was shaping up to be my pièce de résistance.

So, we waited. The ETs, weirdly snuggly looking with their green squishiness, bumbled straight into the pancake-scented trap. Prescott, working the room in his customary tuxedo-esque flair, was on diplomatic duties, proving that cats and peace talks (for once) weren’t like, totally awkward siblings.

Meanwhile, Tigger, notorious for his broad waistband and equally expansive charm, got to the intros — in meows, purrs, and everything binary since, you know, tech-savvy.

Turns out, these ETs were just cosmic tourists! A glance at their guidebook (with shockingly good illustrations of The Groom Room) and they were simply looking for the famed Pawsburgh hospitality. With the chicken hors d’oeuvres flying off plates and my squeaky toy a hit — yeah, Mr. Chicken gets around — we saw off the invaders with full bellies and Instagram handles exchanged.

Sorry, Mom and Dad. Pawsburgh was saved not by war, but with chicken nibbles and fetch games with an alien. An odd Tuesday, but hey, pretty standard for me. And just like that, Corbin — the Boston Terrier in a suit — added ‘Cosmic Ambassador’ to his bark-worthy resume. Sweet, right? Now fetch me my towel, I’ve got a dreaded bath to evade.

The End.

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