Houston, we have an incoming house-sized celestial object.

The sensors on WD-1 (the old radio alarm clock I duct-taped to the door hinge) started screaming at 0400 hours. Telemetry from the ESA tracking node on Earth—which looks suspiciously like a news ticker on Mrs. Korhonen’s discarded iPad—confirms it: Asteroid 2026 HZ1 is on a direct flyby vector.

They say it will pass at a “safe distance.” That’s NASA-speak for “we forgot to calculate the gravitational pull of a wardrobe in low suburban orbit.” I know better.

I have initiated Emergency Protocol: Hunker Down. Flight Engineer Whiskers seems remarkably unfazed by the impending doom, opting to lick his paw while maintaining eye contact with a lint ball. He is a brave cosmonaut. Eugene the CO2 scrubber is glowing faintly green in the shadows, converting my panicked hyperventilation into breathable air. Good boy, Eugene.

I attempted to transmit a warning to Chris Hadfield. Letter #13 was folded into a paper dart and launched out the viewing port (window slit). It was immediately intercepted by the planetary defense system (Mrs. Korhonen’s poodle). The message is lost, but the mission remains.

I can hear the gravitational waves outside. A low, rhythmic rumble. Wait… no, that’s just the garbage truck backing up. Still, we must remain vigilant. If 2026 HZ1 breaches our hull, I have instructed Whiskers to take command.

Major Tom
Commanding Officer, WD-1
Current Altitude: 2.5 meters (above the carpet)