While he waited for Goliath to follow, he asked himself a question.
How can two cane toads, a muscly one and one with a crook leg, get urgent supplies of the sort of presents humans like? Not dumb old dead flies and gumnuts. Things you plug in.
Limpy knew there had to be an answer.
He turned to see if Goliath had any suggestions.
Goliath was stuck in the cat door. This was mostly because of the bulging Christmas sock he was trying to drag through with him.
Limpy sighed and went to help. Through the glass he could see that the cats were both pushing Goliath from behind.
‘Ow,’ complained Goliath. ‘Careful with those claws.’
Limpy grabbed a big wart and pulled, and finally Goliath popped out.
So did his sock.
‘Sorry,’ Goliath said to Limpy. ‘But no way was I gunna leave perfectly good dead flies and gravel for those ungrateful fluff-balls.’
He turned and poked his tongue out at the smirking cats.
‘Ignore them,’ said Limpy. ‘We’ve got more important things to think about.’
‘Getting a bigger cat door?’ said Goliath.
Limpy shook his head.
‘Looks like Santa is seriously delayed,’ he said, ‘so we need to get hold of some bigger and better human gifts ourselves.’
Goliath looked doubtful.
‘Better gifts?’ he said. ‘You mean better than gravel?’
Limpy only half-heard, because at that moment he noticed a dark shape at the end of the backyard.
He stared at it.
It was the answer to their problem.
‘Look at that,’ said Limpy, pointing. ‘Do you know what that is?’
Goliath peered at the shape.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’
‘It’s a shed,’ said Limpy.
‘A what?’ said Goliath.
‘A shed,’ repeated Limpy, more loudly in case Goliath was having hearing problems. Sometimes when Goliath was eating, bits of food tried to escape through his ears.
‘A shed?’ said Goliath.
‘I’ve seen ads for sheds in newspapers,’ said Limpy. ‘Sheds have tools in them. Tools that are good for making things.’
‘What sort of things?’ said Goliath.
‘All sorts of things,’ said Limpy. ‘Automatic lint-removers, for example.’
There were quite a few tools in the shed.
Limpy didn’t have a clue what most of them were, and Goliath clearly didn’t either. But that didn’t stop Goliath pulling them down from their hooks and cutting his hand on a couple of them.
‘Ow,’ said Goliath. ‘That one’s sharp. Ow, so’s that one.’
While Goliath sucked his fingers, Limpy realised they had another problem.
‘I’m not completely sure,’ he said, ‘what a lint-remover is.’
‘Me neither,’ said Goliath. ‘But it can’t be hard to work out. Lint’s like hair and fluff and wispy bits, right? The stuff we eat when we haven’t got salad?’
‘The stuff you eat,’ said Limpy.
‘Right,’ said Goliath. ‘So a lint-remover must be something that removes it.’
Limpy couldn’t argue with that.
‘What I’m not sure about,’ he said to Goliath, ‘is what a lint-remover actually removes lint from.’
Goliath frowned.
‘Places it builds up on humans?’ he said. ‘Like their belly buttons?’
‘Could be,’ said Limpy. ‘Or maybe their clothes. They’re always brushing things off their clothes on picnics. Scorpions and things like that.’
‘OK,’ said Goliath. ‘So what we have to build is a gift that automatically removes lint from human clothes, and removes scorpions as well.’
Limpy nodded doubtfully.
Suddenly he wasn’t feeling quite so confident. He’d never used human tools in his life. He wasn’t even that experienced with sharp sticks.
‘OK,’ said Goliath enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together and looking around the shed in the moonlight. ‘Leave it to me.’
Limpy was impressed.
The floor of the shed was littered with bits of bent wire that Goliath had managed to make even more bent, and lengths of knotted string that Goliath had tied even more knots in, and lumps of wood with Goliath’s teethmarks on them.
Goliath might not be tidiest inventor in the world, thought Limpy, but he certainly doesn’t give up easily.
‘Limpy,’ said Goliath. ‘Could you pass me that screwdriver please?’
Limpy passed him the screwdriver.
Goliath opened his mouth, jammed the sharp end down his throat and jiggled it around.
‘That’s better,’ he said, pulling it out and swallowing. ‘Some gravel got stuck.’
Goliath turned back to his invention.
‘Looking good,’ he said. ‘All I’ve got to do now is make it remove lint.’
Limpy had to admit that after all the failed experiments with the wire and the string and the wood, it had been a clever idea of Goliath’s to adapt a machine that was already in the shed.
True, the only adapting Goliath had done so far was pulling the cover off and staring at the machine for a long time, but Limpy could see Goliath was coming to a decision.
‘Those bits there,’ said Goliath, pointing to some flat metal bits. ‘Those are the bits that will remove the lint.’
He leaned over and dribbled onto the flat metal bits.
‘I’m doing this,’ he said, ‘to make them what we inventors call sticky.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Limpy.
He was really enjoying Goliath being in charge for a change. It was a big relief, not having to try to make friends with the whole human race all on your own.
But he did have one little concern.
‘Those flat metal bits look sharp,’ said Limpy.
‘Yeah,’ said Goliath. ‘They have to be.’
Limpy frowned.
That did look like it might be a problem. But before he could say anything, another voice said it for him.
‘Big problem, that.’
Limpy saw the voice belonged to a woodworm who had crawled out of a floorboard.
‘Your problem,’ said the woodworm, ‘is that when humans start that lawnmower up and try to use it to remove lint from their clothes, it’ll slice them to bits and kill them.’
‘So?’ said Goliath.
Limpy stared at the machine.
‘Goliath,’ he said quietly, struggling not to explode. ‘We’re on a mission of peace and goodwill. To make friends with humans. Not give them a present that’s going to kill them.’
Goliath was staring sulkily at the floor.
‘It might not kill all of them,’ he muttered. ‘Not if they’re careful.’
A beautiful shaft of dawn sunlight came in through the shed window. It wasn’t enough to stop Limpy’s shoulders drooping wearily.
‘It’s morning,’ said the woodworm. ‘Christmas morning. Happy Christmas.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ muttered Goliath.
Limpy didn’t say anything.
It wasn’t feeling like a very happy Christmas at all.
The early morning sun threw dark shadows down the street.
Two of the shadows hopped slowly and wearily away from a house with a shed in its backyard.
The small hopping shadow gave a big sigh.
The large hopping shadow didn’t reply. Just stuck its hand into a shadow sock, pulled out some shadow gravel and ate it.
As Limpy hopped, he stared at his dark bobbing self on the footpath in front of him.
Experienced shadow experts, he thought, like owls or glow-worms, would probably be thinking that just because my shoulders are sagging and my warts are drooping, I’m a cane toad who’s given up on a really important mission.
Well they’d be wrong.
Limpy remembered what Dad always said.
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
br /> That’s three tries all together, thought Limpy. Which means we’ve still got one try to go.
He straightened his shoulders and perked up his warts.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he said to Goliath.
Goliath crunched some gravel with a droopy mouth.
‘What’s happy about it?’ he said. ‘We didn’t even meet Santa.’
‘I know,’ said Limpy. ‘That was bad luck. He must have come while we were in the shed. But it doesn’t matter. Even without Santa, we can still make this mission a success.’
Goliath gave Limpy the sort of look you give a dung beetle who’s forgotten what dung is.
‘It’s Christmas morning,’ continued Limpy. ‘Soon humans everywhere will be waking up full of Christmas cheer. Their warts will be tingling with it. Or their pimples if they haven’t got warts.’
‘What’s your point?’ said Goliath.
‘This is the one day of the year all humans are full of peace and goodwill,’ said Limpy. ‘It’s the perfect day for us to make friends with them. We mustn’t waste it.’
Goliath reached into his sock, put a dead fly into his mouth and sucked mournfully.
‘We left our Santa hats in the shed,’ he said. ‘The cats’ll probably use them to store kitty litter in. So what are we gunna do? Stick twigs in our heads and pretend to be reindeer?’
Limpy grinned.
He had a better idea than that.
‘There’s more to Christmas than hats,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time to try something different. What do humans give each other at Christmas, apart from presents?’
Goliath had a think.
‘Colds?’ he said.
‘Christmas cards,’ said Limpy.
Limpy had never made a Christmas card before. He’d seen silverfish giving them to each other, or bits of them, and he knew how they worked and what they were made of. So finding a pizza box in a rubbish bin was a big stroke of luck. Specially with half a pizza in it.
‘Yay,’ yelled Goliath, grabbing the box. ‘I’m having a happy Christmas after all.’
‘Don’t eat the pizza,’ said Limpy.
‘Why not?’ said Goliath. ‘Santa probably left it for me.’
Limpy showed Goliath why.
He tore the bottom off the box and folded it in half to make a card. Then he lifted the cheese off the pizza and dipped his finger into the tomato paste and drew a happy Christmas scene on the front of the card.
‘What is it?’ said Goliath, staring at the drawing.
‘Cane toads and humans,’ said Limpy. ‘Sharing a happy and friendly Christmas Day together.’
‘Why are they covered in tomato paste?’ said Goliath.
‘They’re making pizzas,’ said Limpy.
He let Goliath do the inside of the card.
They couldn’t do a message because of the language problem, so Goliath drew humans and cane toads on a mud slide together.
‘Those humans,’ said Limpy suspiciously. ‘They’ve all got sticks poking out of their heads. Are they pretending to be reindeer?’
He could tell from Goliath’s guilty expression they weren’t. So he made Goliath erase all the sticks. Goliath didn’t mind that much because he got to do it with his tongue.
The first human Limpy chose to give the Christmas card to was a man in a dressing gown. He was pegging underwear on a clothes line in a backyard.
‘Look at those lovely colourful pegs,’ said Limpy. ‘I bet he got them for Christmas and couldn’t wait to try them out.’
Goliath swallowed the last bit of pizza and glowered at the pegs.
‘They wouldn’t be lovely clamped to a wart,’ he said.
Limpy hopped up onto the back fence and started waving to the man.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he shouted.
He held the card up so the man could see it.
The man didn’t even look round.
‘I knew this wouldn’t work,’ grunted Goliath, hopping onto the fence next to Limpy. ‘The dopey mongrel can’t understand a croak you’re saying.’
‘He will when he sees the card,’ said Limpy. ‘You try. You’ve got a louder voice.’
‘Happy Christmas,’ croaked Goliath, scowling at the man.
‘Wave as well,’ said Limpy.
Goliath waved his fists.
After a lot more waving and yelling, the man finally turned round.
Limpy held the card out and made his warts glow with Christmas cheer. He waited for the surprised expression on the man’s face to change into a smile of peace and goodwill.
It didn’t. It changed into a glare of hatred.
A peg hurtled past Limpy’s head. And another.
‘I don’t think this mongrel likes Christmas cards,’ said Goliath, ducking.
‘It’s us he doesn’t like,’ said Limpy sadly. ‘Come on, hop for it.’
They jumped down from the fence and hurried along the street and hid in a stormwater drain.
‘Can I eat the card now?’ said Goliath.
‘No,’ said Limpy. ‘We’ll try again with another human in a while. It’s probably a bit early for peace and goodwill right now. Humans are always a bit grumpy first thing in the morning.’
Goliath insisted on choosing the next human.
‘That one,’ he said, pointing to a woman crouched by her car at the side of the street.
She was changing a flat tyre.
‘Are you sure?’ said Limpy doubtfully.
‘Leave her to me,’ said Goliath. ‘It’s not too early any more. She’s had time for coffee and turkey pizza. I bet she got that hydraulic jack for Christmas and gave herself a puncture just so she could use it.’
Limpy wasn’t sure about that.
The woman looked very red in the face, and was muttering things Limpy suspected were rude.
Before Limpy could stop him, Goliath put his sock down, grabbed the card and hopped over to the woman.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he croaked loudly.
The woman looked at him.
Then, to Limpy’s horror, she grabbed the metal stick she’d been using to try to get the tyre off the wheel, and used it to try to get Goliath’s head off his body.
Luckily her first lunge missed.
Goliath hopped backwards.
‘Hey,’ he said indignantly to the woman. ‘If you don’t like your Christmas present, don’t blame me. I’m not Santa. I’m not even Santa’s helper. I’ve never even met the bloke.’
The woman swung at Goliath’s head again.
‘Goliath,’ yelled Limpy. ‘This way.’
They hopped for it and hid in another stormwater drain.
‘This is a dopey idea,’ growled Goliath. ‘Humans have always hated us and they’ll never be friends with us.’
‘They will,’ said Limpy. ‘I’m sure they will. We just have to find the right human to start the whole thing off. Come on, let’s give it one more go.’
They found a human who seemed perfect.
He looked well-rested, well-fed and, best of all, he was wearing a Santa hat with his shorts and thongs so he was clearly full of Christmas cheer and goodwill. Plus the chainsaw he was trimming his hedge with was gleaming and new, so Limpy and Goliath agreed he must be really happy.
‘When we give him the card,’ said Goliath hopefully, ‘do you think he’ll let us have a go of the chainsaw?’
‘First things first,’ said Limpy.
He hopped close to the human’s feet. He didn’t bother shouting because of the noise of the chainsaw, just held the card out.
The human didn’t notice.
Goliath did bother shouting. Also he grabbed a stick and started bashing it against a can of chainsaw fuel.
‘Hey, pay attention, you wartless wonder,’ roared Goliath. ‘We’re wishing you a happy Christmas.’
The human still didn’t pay attention. Limpy could see he didn’t even know they were there.
But all that suddenly changed around the time Goliath stopped bashing the fuel can
and started bashing the human’s ankle.
‘Hop for it,’ screamed Limpy as the chainsaw swung down towards them in a cloud of smoke and human curses.
They hopped for it, through the hedge and down the street.
Limpy looked around desperately for another stormwater drain. For ages he couldn’t see one. Just a teenager trying to run them over with his new trail bike, then a woman trying to stab them with her new cutlery set, then a man trying to tie them up with his new tie, then a toddler trying to colour them in with her new textas, then a pensioner trying to bash them with his new walking frame.
Even when Limpy finally did find another stormwater drain, and he and Goliath flopped exhausted into it, a gang of crayfish tried to put Limpy in one of their new plastic supermarket bags they reckoned Santa had sent them in the last downpour.
Goliath chased the crayfish away.
Limpy slumped against the wall of the drain. He tried to perk his warts up, but it was no good.
Goliath’s right, he thought miserably. Humans have always hated cane toads and they always will. And no amount of Christmas or presents or cards or Santa will ever change that. Ever. Our mission is a total failure.
Limpy felt sick with disappointment.
‘I’m sorry, Goliath,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home. I was wrong. There’s no such thing as Christmas peace and goodwill. That Christmas beetle must have made it all up.’
Goliath was slumped as well, hugging his sock and chewing.
‘I bet he’s not even a real Christmas beetle,’ said Goliath bitterly through a mouthful of Christmas card. ‘I bet he’s just a swamp beetle in a hat.’
Limpy and Goliath hopped wearily along the street towards the firefighter’s house, trying to stay out of the searing Christmas Day sun as much as possible.
‘I’m hot,’ croaked Goliath, shifting his sock from one shoulder to the other.
Limpy felt the same.
And exhausted and miserable.
He tried to cheer Goliath up.
‘At least we found our way back,’ said Limpy. ‘Thanks to that kind frog in the drain giving us directions. That was lucky, him knowing the video shop on the corner.’
It didn’t work.
Goliath just scowled and muttered something about how he’d rather have eaten the frog.
Limpy gave up.
He knew exactly how Goliath felt.
When you’ve just failed in the most important quest of your life, who wants to be cheered up?