Do you ever think, "It's quiet ... too quiet ..." ?

In the bad old days when I was married to Mr Wrong, I occasionally found myself poking around in search of the new problem that had yet to find me on its own. In his case, it was usually a secret stash of vodka, or a surreptitiously drained bank account. I count myself lucky.

Cops hate confusion, so they're often bad at dealing with people with mental illnesses. They would much rather face actual evil.

Here's hoping for an acceptable, non-destructive outcome.