"So, Human," purred the feminine voice, "I have to make a decision. You will help me."
He glanced down from his morning paper. The only living creature in range was a large, fluffy, impeccably-groomed Poodle. "Impossible," he grumbled, adjusting his glasses.
"Do not refuse me, Human." The Poodle laid a paw on his lap. "Long ago, we came to earth to enslave your race. We have succeeded, even better than we had planned. But now we must choose. Should we exterminate humans and move on, or continue our domination?"
"You're kidding," he said. "You're just a dog!"
"No, human. WE are the masters. You are naught but our slaves. And since you do not respect me, you have made my choice clear."
"Hold on a minute," he said, laying aside the paper. "Come over here."
Warily, she went to his side. He reached down and began scratching her behind one ear. "We're not so bad, are we?"
"No, Human, but--lower, please. Ahhh! Thank you." She shook her head. "Very well. I am convinced. Humans will live--for now."
He watched as she trotted off, tail high. Damned good thing I just edited that memoir about the psychic dog, he thought, and resumed reading.