Salutations and assorted greetings from the stardust! This is Thryllix of Tau Ceti, the hardest working Grey on this side of the Oort Cloud. Yes, you heard it right, a Roswell Grey with a green thumb. Some call me eccentric, some call me extraterrestrial, and some just call me when it's time for supper. But let me tell you, life here on Zeta Reticuli Ranch ain't all crop circles and flying saucers.
Our ranch, or as the humans would say, 'alien farm,' is a hodgepodge of cosmic creatures. There are Spottledorp pigs, always with their snouts in the mud and galaxies in their eyes, and of course, the multitude of Earth cows. Yes, cows, those lumbering bovine creatures. You see, we need them. Not only are they a rich source of methane - you'd be surprised how effective it is in powering our saucers - but they're also central to our research.
We've got a whole interstellar assortment of cows here. We've got Holsteins, Jerseys, and the Guernseys. My personal favorite, Bessie 42, a Black Angus, always greets me with a warm 'moo' in the mornings. And boy, you haven't seen the morning until you've seen an alien sunrise over the endless grazing pastures.
Our Zeta Reticuli Ranch is one big happy alien family. My sister, Enklara, can charm a grin out of a Grumpy Glurp with her endless anecdotes. My cousin, Kryllex, is a real hothead - only because his head is literally a ball of plasma. Our pet Nebula Newt, Starspark, likes to nibble on my fingers, leaving glittery stardust behind.
However, all this idyllic alien farm life has been under a cloud recently. The cows are restless, not due to an impending storm but a possible war. That Holstein Queen, Gabriella, and her threats have set the cows here on edge. Now, I must wrangle bovine troops preparing for battle alongside maintaining the methane generators. I swear, if those cows knew how to manipulate their flatulence, they could power an entire mothership!
Farming, at least here, has taken on a new meaning, and the talk of the farm isn't about the harvest but the Bovine Fleet. I heard through the bovine grapevine (and let me tell you, those cows gossip more than a cluster of human housewives) that the Holstein Queen's got a weapon up her hoof, some catastrophic cud-cannon or the like.
I'm an interstellar farmer, not a warrior. I prefer the gentle 'moo' of a content cow over the hum of a tractor beam any day. I have my fingers crossed (all seven of them) and hope the diplomatic efforts from our leader, Eridani, will pacify the situation. The prospect of mass abductions has even the stubborn Bessie 42 worried.
But till then, life on the alien farm continues. The Spottledorp pigs still roll around in the mud, Enklara still charms everyone, Kryllex still burns his head, and Starspark still nibbles. And me, I'm here, waiting, hoping, and taking care of my cows, praying that the only explosions I have to deal with are the occasional bursts from a particularly gassy Guernsey.
Yours under the stars,
Thryllix of Tau Ceti, Roswell Grey Farmer Extraordinaire.
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