Drat that cat!

It turns out that when I left my bedroom yesterday afternoon, I accidentally shut the cat in there. This wouldn't have been such a catastrophe (cat-astrophe!) if I'd come home last night, but unfortunately I spent the night, as is my wont, on a friend's sofa, and Molly's plight apparently wasn't discovered until this morning. I tentatively ventured into the room when I got home this evening, hoping against hope that she'd had some self-control. No such luck. She crapped smack bang in the middle of my bed. I briefly toyed with the idea of being a sensible, practical non-wasteful person, and getting on with a highly distressing laundry session, but it turns out that both my bedspread and my duvet are dry clean only. I just couldn't bear the thought of going to the dry cleaners, proffering a stinking bin bag, and requesting that they clean faeces from my bedding. Plus, would I ever have been able to sleep under that duvet again, knowing what I knew? So I threw it all in the bin. I know, I know, there are freezing children in the Arctic circle who would think themselves lucky to have a cat-turd coated duvet, and I've probably just done more than my fair share towards destroying the planet by swelling the contents of a landfill, but I'm prepared to accept that. Now I need to buy a new duvet. What the hell is a tog, anyway?