August 31, 2026

Students Discover Wellness Wagon Is Just A Folding Chair Outside The Field House

Bohiney Magazine | The London Prat

WICHITA FALLS, TEXAS — A wellness initiative announced last fall as the Memorial Mavericks Wellness Wagon was revealed Monday to be, on closer inspection, a single folding chair set up outside the field house, which a coach unfolds when he remembers and which a stray cat named Daryl has reportedly been sleeping under.

I sat in the wagon for forty minutes, said senior Caitlyn Robles. I journaled. I did the breathing. I felt great. Then somebody told me there is no wagon. The chair is the wagon. I do not know how to feel. I think I feel held.

The Reveal

The deception unraveled when a parent attending a campus tour asked the principal where the wagon was kept and was led to a 1990s metal folding chair leaning against the side of the field house, with a hand-lettered sign that read SIT HERE IF YOU NEED IT and a smaller sign underneath that read NOT FOR DARYL.

Daryl, a tabby of indeterminate age and significant emotional intelligence, is reportedly the actual program. According to Bohiney coverage, Daryl has been logging an average of nine hours per school day under the chair, providing what students describe as low-pressure unconditional regard, mostly by ignoring them but sometimes by purring nearby.

The wagon was funded with a $38,000 grant. Records show $4 went to the chair, which was already there, and $30 went to the sign. The remaining funds went to a consultant who described herself in invoices as a North Texas mindfulness logistics specialist and is, sources say, the principal sister-in-law.

The Consultant Defends

Reached at her studio, which is the front porch of a home in Burkburnett, the consultant said the wagon concept was always meant to be metaphorical. The wagon is not a vehicle, she said. The wagon is a state of mind. You sit in the wagon by sitting in the chair. The chair carries you. The chair is the wagon. If you cannot grasp this, the wagon is not for you.

The consultant has also been billing the school for a series of services including aura cleansings of the football locker room, an emotional check-in with the marching band tuba section, and a one-time energy realignment of the head custodian, who now reports being, quote, mostly fine, but somehow more tired.

The London satire outlet London Prat notes that British schools have run essentially identical programs for years using a single bench named Geoffrey. Geoffrey, like Daryl, does most of the actual work.

The Cat

Daryl himself, reached for comment by being knelt next to, did not respond verbally but did blink very slowly twice, which animal communication experts call a positive interaction and which veterinarians call sleep. Either way, students felt seen.

According to a study from the Bohiney Center for Underwhelming Initiatives, 81 percent of school wellness programs in North Texas turn out to involve a single cat in some capacity, with the cat performing 70 percent of the program objectives at no cost. The study has been forwarded to several districts, all of which have declined to act on it because the cats have not asked them to.

Memorial is reportedly now planning to expand the wagon to a second folding chair on the other side of the field house. Daryl, sources confirm, has already inspected the proposed site and given his approval, which he indicated by laying down on it for two hours and refusing to move when a JV running back tried to sit there.

Principal Whitaker called the program a major success. We told them we would meet them where they are, she said. They are mostly outside, on the grass, near a chair, near a cat. So that is where the wellness is. The wellness is technically in the cat. We do not pay the cat. We are not allowed to. We tried.

SOURCE: https://bohiney.com/

More wellness theater at Reductress.

Annabelle Bransford

Hi, I’m Annabelle Bransford, Memorial High School’s unofficial satirist-in-residence and proud founder of The Daily Detention—a publication so edgy it’s been banned twice and resurrected three times, like a sassy phoenix with a flair for detention slips. I write satire because someone has to hold the line between cafeteria chaos and gym class tyranny. Whether I’m exposing the secret emotional feud between our Algebra teacher and Euclid, or investigating why the pep rally feels like an ancient ritual sacrifice, I try to speak truth to hallway power. Sure, I’ve been called “disruptive,” but mostly by people who wear lanyards unironically. My work has been read by at least two janitors, my entire AP English class, and one substitute teacher who thought it was a cry for help. I consider that range. When I’m not sharpening my wit, I’m dodging group projects, winning banned book club trivia, or mentoring the school's AI Isn’t Funny Club (membership: just me and 17 bots I’ve emotionally manipulated). I’m also a National Merit Semi-Finalist, certified eye-roller at Student Government meetings, and the only girl in school who’s been accused of “weaponizing irony.” My goals? Keep writing, keep laughing, and one day publish a satirical exposé called Yearbook Superlatives and Other Lies. If you want something sugarcoated, try the bake sale. If you want the truth with a punchline, I’m your girl. I've landed a sweet job at Bohiney Magazine, so don't bother me. EMAIL: annabelle@bohiney.com

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