The Cam Chronicles

Entry One: "Excuse Me, Sir... My Balls Go on the Floor"

Exhibit A: Cam, pictured here in possession of the disputed artifact.

Mom's Version:

We were prepping for the bug guy, cleaning the house like responsible humans under divine canine supervision. At one point, Braino picked up Cam's sacred toy balls and—brace yourself—placed them on the couch.

Now, if you know Cam, you know the rules are clear:

• The floor is for fun.

• The couch is for lounging.

• Drool does not cross sacred furniture thresholds.

Cam watched it happen. Didn't bark. Didn't growl. Just slowly turned to look at me with those judgmental eyes like,

"Mom. He did it. He put them on the couch. He touched the balls. He defiled the drool perimeter. I can't be the only one who sees this."

I could feel the tattletale energy radiating from him like he was drafting an HR complaint in his head.

Cam's Commentary:

"It's not complicated. Balls go on the floor. If you touch them, you better be prepared to play. Otherwise? Step away from the rubber."

"I didn't bark because I shouldn't have to. This is my home. I allow you to live here. But let's be clear—I have expectations."

"Also? That couch is for snuggles and naps. You ever sit down and suddenly feel a wet sphere in your butt crack? No? Exactly. You're welcome."

Final Thoughts:

We fixed it. Balls returned to floor. Balance restored.

Cam resumed his supervisory nap with full passive-aggressive satisfaction.

Another day, another domestic justice served.