Day 385: Wicked Pisser

Note: This blog post was inspired by recent, actual events, including my watching last night’s season premiere¹ of “Sherlock” with my son.

Soon after waking this morning, I said to my partner of three years, “I’ve got it.  I know what today’s post title will be.”

Wicked pisser.

It was obvious, and all too clear.  Why hadn’t I realized it before? After briefly cursing myself for my slowness, I made haste to prepare for today’s post.

“The blog’s afoot, Michael!” I cried, as I ran — my feet descending the stairs clad in but one purple sock — to retrieve my cell phone.

Carefully re-ascending, I took a photo of the crime scene:

Of course, the authorities,  when arriving upon the scene soon after the deed was discovered last night, had completely bungled the investigation, removing critical evidence.  Nevertheless, I believed this photo would help me and my Blogging Street Irregulars put the pieces together.

Next, after hastily rearranging the crime scene to its usual morning appearance, I surreptitiously took a photo of the first suspect:

I reviewed the evidence against this creature. Uppermost of all the thoughts flashing through my mind were these:

1. His returning to the scene of the crime.
2. The look on his face, which any keen observer might deduce as indicative of guilt (although I’ve learned, through many years of  investigations, that facial expressions can be deceiving).
3. His motives, which could include revenge for being removed, relatively recently, from his previous home — a local shelter of good repute — from which he was placed, without his consent, in an unfamiliar domicile to cohabit with other creatures, also not of his choosing.

Which reminded me of the other obvious suspect:

Again, the case against this graceful animal ran through my head:

1. Previous commitments of the crime in question, although never at that particular location.

That was all I could come up with, in the heat of the moment.  I wondered: Was my affection for this creature interfering in my dispassionate review of the evidence?

Of course not. Affection never sways my mind from the facts. Nevertheless, I could proceed no further with the investigation.

At the time of this writing, the results are inconclusive. I’m hoping, with future observation, to solve the crime. But, as we know, some mysteries are never solved², even when we’ve narrowed the list of suspects.

Before I end this blog post, I would like to tell my readers this: I had other reasons for naming today’s post, precisely.

For example, “Wicked Pisser” —  at the geographical location of the crime scene — can be the highest possible praise. In the local vernacular, it means Top Notch. Amazing. The Best.

My plan, over this long weekend, was to write a post about some high praise I’ve received, at different points in my life.

However, events can interfere with intentions. One must go with the flow.

And, sometimes, it’s good to keep your audience guessing.

Thanks to all the Sherlock Holmeses I’ve encountered, since age 10. Who else to thank? Elementary, my dear reader. You, for visiting today.

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1. In the United States.

2. For example, see my blog post from months past — Unsolved Mysteries — set in Edinburgh, Scotland.

A final, unnumbered footnote: See the comment section, below, for postulations about a mysterious “<   p>” which appeared, at some point, in this post.

One more thing that feels missing, to me, from this post. Some background music: