Sad state of affairs, this. You have been passively-aggressively complaining about the cleanliness of your bed for days. I have watched you bathe it until I thought your tongue would surely be sore and raw. I have seen you snub said bed for one of my clean fuzzy blankets. You have futzed and putzed and whined and groaned. So finally I gave in and went to the trouble of stripping, washing, drying, and enlisting Jay’s help to properly fluff your bed. At first at seemed as if you would be satisfied, dare I even say approach a state of nirvana? But then, alas! A sideways glance and the tongue comes out again.