Let's see what we can do with: the butterfly.
Went to my local writing group this morning, then took a trip up to Penticton this afternoon to run some errands. This evening I caught the tail end of St. Louis losing in overtime, which leaves Vancouver 2 points up in the west with two games to go.
Top seed gets home ice advantage until the finals, or however far the team makes it. First overall in the league gets home ice right through the finals and that's still in reach too, but New York has the edge for that right now.
It's going down to the wire, but the Canucks are definitely moving in the right direction with the playoffs looming around the corner. Can't wait for them to start!
The butterfly in the mason jar is dead. When I went to bed last night it seemed perfectly healthy. Who killed my beautiful pet?
I live alone. The doors and windows were locked. I've never spotted anything that might suggest I sleepwalk. No cats, no dogs.
I don't understand.
Maybe it was something it ate before I caught it. Some weird, slow-acting poison. It couldn't have been anything in the jar - I'd sterilized it by the book, and there are no openings through which any sort of predator could have made its way inside, no matter how small...
So who killed my magnificent butterfly?