Read the short stories aloud and practise + concentrate on the sound /æ/:


There’s a lack of cash for the salary. The black bag is at the back. The happy man thanked and left
rapidly. Who’s that fat chap hanging around? He said that our travel plans were better. The black
cat sat on the mat. When I met him, he was standing in the lab looking angry. Jack Sprat could eat
no fat. Stand up! Clap, clap! Hands up! Clap, clap!



A Story of a Black Cat

A man sat on a black cat and the black cat was squashed flat, for the man was a fat man. Oh, that
fat man is a bad man, said the black cat, he’s squashed me flat and that makes me sad. The black
cat had only
a thin little voice, of course, for he was a flat cat and you should know that a flat cat’s voice
is a thin voice. But the fat man heard what the sad black cat said and he said, the man said: Oh,
flat black cat,
I am sad! I thought you were a black mat, and that’s why I sat where I sat.

I wish you hadn’t sat where you sat, said the cat. It was sitting where you sat that squashed me
flat, as flat as a flat black mat.

That’s bad, said the fat man, very bad. Wouldn’t you be glad if I hadn’t sat where I sat?

Yes, said the cat, for you’re fat, too fat for this sad black cat on whom you’ve sat. Can’t you
stand up,
fat man?

Yes, I can, said the man, and he did stand up.

That makes me glad, said the black cat, very glad. And the cat and the cat’s voice grew fatter and
fatter and gladder and gladder. Then the black cat, who had been a flat, flat cat, grew fat, quite
fat again, but not of course as fat as the fat man who had sat on the latter sad fat cat.

I’m sorry I sat on you, you poor black cat, said the man, come and sit on my lap.

So the black cat sat on the man’s lap and the man and the cat were glad and sang sad bad mad songs
to each other, and that was that.



Jack McHat (David Orme)                                                 He’ll pinch your telly and
swipe your clock,

Jack McHat! Jack McHat!                                                    There isn’t a window,
isn’t a lock

No one can guess what he is at,                                            That’ll keep out the
villainous Jack McHat.

He can nip up the ivy, quick as a cat!                                   Jack McHat! Jack McHat!

If you’ve left your window open a crack,                             He squeezes through holes too
small for a rat,

Jack’ll get in and fill up his sack                                           He piles up his loot
in his council flat.

With lots of stuff you’ll never get back,                               Look out! Look out!

There isn’t a crib that he can’t crack                                     For Jack McHat!!!

For it’s Jack McHat! Jack McHat!

He flits through the dark like a vampire bat,

And you’ll never find out what he is at!