“We could have accidentally fallen under the spell of a wayward student at that magic school Harry Potter went to. What was the name of it?
Even though they weren’t supposed to do magic in other places, certainly not on the other side of the world, we would fall under the very woolly spell of that wayward girl. You would be covered in sheep’s wool and I would be covered in sheep’s wool and no one would recognise us.
When you turned up to Station Road School to teach your class, the children would SCREAM at the very sight of you. The caretaker would rush in and SCREAM at the sight of you. The principal would rush in and SCREAM at the sight of you. The receptionist would rush in and SCREAM at the sight of you. And if you saw the way you looked you would SCREAM at the sight of yourself too!
Then the receptionist would call a local farmer and say, ‘A stray sheep is trying to teach Room 28’, and order him to come and get the stray sheep, ‘AT ONCE!’
You would have so much wool about your face that when you tried to talk it would sound like a very weird baaing sound and nobody would understand a word.
The principal would tell everyone, ‘Not only do we have a sheep trying to teach, we have a sick sheep trying to teach. What is the world coming to?’ she would ask the children in a puzzled voice.
As for me, I would be very woolly too. It would be hard for me to move in my usual sleek and graceful way because I would be covered in so much wool. That would be very bad news indeed. And I would not like the smell of it. I would be a very woolly, stinky cat and nobody would come near me. And you know how a cat likes a good cuddle.
Cats would think I was too SHEEPY and sheep would think I was too CATTY! The worst news of all is I would be heaven for dogs. Yes! Dogs would love to chase me, but my very, very woolly legs wouldn’t make it up the nearest tree in time. I would be dog food for sure.”
The cat looked at the teacher with a long, hard stare and said, “Now that would be WOOLLY!” He turned and walked over to Miss May’s desk where a huge pile of exercise books sat. He admired the writing in one of the books.
“Aren’t these poems divine,” he said. “Listen to this:
The rain is like cat paws
on my roof.
I eat hot soup.
I am warm inside.
Oh, how good is that. On behalf of all cats, thank you!” said the cat.
Miss May smiled at the cat’s compliments, but when she caught sight of the wild, wild night outside, she gave a deafening sigh. A fence post whizzed past the window, then a gumboot, a tennis racquet and a half-eaten pizza.
“Oh, what a terrible, stormy, wild, windy, woolly, treacherous night,” moaned Miss May.
“It could be worse,” replied the cat in an extra-polite voice. “We could be hanging from …”