A not very serious story for a painting prompt I can’t take very seriously either.
“Take it,” she said.
“Do it,” the baby said.
“No,” said the ewe. “I don’t want to become a cat sheep.”
“Just stop arguing,” she said, “and take the tablet.”
“It won’t hurt,” the baby said, “much. And anyway, when you have claws and teeth you’ll be able to take it out on the wolves.”
“Look,” said the ewe, “I don’t want to ‘take it out’ on anyone. All we need is a pen. You provide shepherds and a pen for the night time and we’ll be fine. Until you send us to the slaughterhouse anyway.”
“Don’t be smart,” the baby said. “It’s time you learned to look after yourselves. Claws and teeth and a snarky temperament and the wolves won’t stand a chance.”
The ewe sighed. “I’m a sheep. Lambkins here’s a sheep. We eat grass, not… That’s a point. What do they eat?”
A low sound, somewhere between a growl and a purr made the woman turn.
“Ma’am! Call the guards! It’s got little Jimmy!” the governess screamed, tugging ineffectually at a child’s pinafore. A dozen woolly individuals stopped prowling around the corpse of their sister and turned their attention to the human drama.
The woman sighed heavily and tut-tutted as the cat sheep dragged the shrieking toddler down the field to the waiting pack flock, and the baby smirked.
“I always hated Jimmy,” he said.