How not to get the cat clean

Last night I was on the local radio for local people. I thought I was just going in to look at the buttons and sticks and things, but instead I was handed a sheet showing me where in the running order of the show I was to be talked to, ie the exact moment that I was to sparkle with wit and scintillation.
There was also a lovely woman starting a cookery show, and a guy who's presenting a newspaper show who actually I know from the Salsa classes back in April... We couldn't place each other at the time, but Peter - if you're reading this, yes... that was me in the dodgy tracksuit.
I totally messed up of course, there was a mention of a woman who had a cat who had crawled into a coal bunker and she couldn't wash him enough to turn him white. Did I say something poignant about how the cat should be allowed to be whatever colour it wanted as long as it was happy? Nope... I suggested bleach, with such a straight face that the studio dwellers thought I meant it, until I tried to convince them I was only joking. I did manage to shut up and not say anything else terribly foolish... I hope... I mean I could be blocking something out. There was no angry mob outside as I was leaving at least, so it can't have been that bad... I hope.