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John Watson, a popular vegan and animal rights author/activist, watched the 6 o'clock evening news with his eyes wide open.
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A news helicopter circled and observed the raid of a neighborhood nearby …
"Judy, that's right. The alien visitors we thought of as looking like cute rabbits, and smarter than us with their interstellar technology, are hopping over fences and ravaging ..."
"Doug, ravaging? What do you mean?"
"Believe it or not, Judy, hordes of them are jumping from property to property, destroying yards and eating peoples' cats and dogs."
"Doug, that's unbelievable. Why our pets?"
"That's a good question, Judy. According to exobiologists, the aliens have no domesticated animals on their homeworld. They consider ours a delicacy."
"But Doug, can they be reasoned with?"
"No, I'm afraid not, Judy. Just moments ago, our leadership tried, and the creatures bit and gnawed their heads off— literally. After we retaliated, a squadron of their spaceships swooped in, targeted, and vaporized entire buildings."
"Doug, that's horrible. Are we defenseless?"
"Not exactly, Judy. Eye witness accounts and first-hand reports say a fierce strike between their ears will instantly crush their brains. Despite police saying they're impervious to bullets and electric shock."
"Thank you, Doug, please keep us posted."
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John Watson secured his house by locking up and barricading doors, boarding up windows, and reinforcing every possible entry point.
A shrieking noise from somewhere outside vibrated the house walls and rattled windows, followed by the pattering of an alien creature scampering around on the rooftop.
John's dog, Lyla, whimpered while lying on the couch, all curled up with her ears pointed down, and tail tucked in.
"Stay here, girl ..."
He went outside, secured the backdoor, opened his garden shed, and grabbed a shovel.
A cute rabbit-looking alien creature appeared right next to him, twitching its ears, standing upright, and smiling with giant fangs. It sniffed John's leg, hissed, and cried out with an ear-piercing shrill. After that, far in the distance, a cacophony of trampling footsteps could be heard advancing toward his home.
"Oh damn, it smells Lyla!"
John swung and hit the animal with the shovel, causing it to shriek in pain.
He stepped back, grabbed his chest, and gasped.
While staring at the creature, he glanced at his house, saw Lyla through a window, and rammed the edge of the shovel, like a blade, into the alien rabbit's throat—causing it to choke, cry, and sputter, but it managed to recover completely.
"What the hell? Oh, right ..."
John took a deep breath, lifted the shovel high, and swung down while bellowing out a loud grunt, crushing the alien's skull. The creature immediately bled out through its ears and stopped breathing.
Back inside his house, John secured Lyla in a hallway closet, and then returned outside.
With this shovel—he smashed, jabbed, and pounded the alien rabbits' skulls. Their blood splattered all over the place while they cried and wailed in agony.
John's body trembled, bringing him close to tears.
And yet, more of them came ...
"You're not eating my dog, you wretched beasts!"
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After the alien rampage ceased ...
John entered his house with his body dripping in alien blood. He let Lyla out of the closet, and then he took a hot shower.
He sat down on the couch with Lyla on his lap, petting her while she licked his face.
The TV news station continued to cover the perpetual onslaught by the alien hordes.
John's phone buzzed, so he picked it up and swiped open an email notification about the latest animal rights rally meet-up, which advocated alien education and awareness.
He glanced at the bloody chopped up alien corpses piled up in his backyard, petted Lyla, sighed, shook his head, scrolled to the bottom of the email, and clicked unsubscribe.