By Hobo Hudson

I had just awakened from my customary three-hour afternoon power nap and trotted over to the water fountain outside Mom’s office door when I heard Mom and Dad talking with a strange hooman. I cocked my ear the moment Dad said, “We’ll be happy to have dinner with you, but we’ll have to sneak out without Hobo knowing about it. Be real quiet because he’s a slave driver.”

Pretending I didn’t overhear the conversation and putting on my best Dale Carnegie face, I casually walked into Mom’s office and barked, “Dad, before you leave, I need a new satire piece for the website and new reader projections for the next month. Mom, I need you to write two news stories and an editorial.”

Whining, Dad turned toward me and said, “Hobo, I’ll be up until at least 2 o’clock in the morning doing all this.” Mom just cringed and said, “Yes, Hobo.” The stranger, first glancing at Mom and Dad and then staring at me, said, “Doesn’t the overtime kill your bottom line, Mr. Hobo?”

I snapped, “I don’t pay overtime. I just bark orders and expect my hooman employees to follow them.”

I had barely closed my mouth when the stranger whipped out a leash and a badge and told me he was arresting me for human slavery.

I’m sitting in a cell at the local jail right now. While I’m waiting for my attorney, Ms. Foley Monster, to arrive and make bail arrangements, I’m pondering who could have ratted me out.

My first impulse was to fire whoever did it, but Ms. Monster told me when I called her to bail me out there is some law called the “Whistle Blower Law” that prevents me from penalizing employees in situations like this. I guess I may have to devise some other way to express my displeasure.