With hoses and axes and fire extinguishers?
Limpy realised who they were.
‘That’s weird,’ he said. ‘Why are those firefighters all dressed like Santa?’
As Limpy and Goliath watched the firefighters putting out the burning Christmas tree, Limpy started to have an uncomfortable feeling deep in his guts.
‘Don’t be dopey,’ muttered Goliath. ‘Firefighters just wear the same colour as Santa, that’s all. If they were dressed up as him they’d all have beards.’
Limpy nodded. Goliath was right. No beards.
Except for one of them.
Limpy stared.
One of the firefighters, the most elderly, who was giving orders to the others, had a white beard. A very familiar white beard.
Oh no, thought Limpy.
Now he was feeling very sick and giddy even though the smoke had stopped.
‘Goliath,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.’
Limpy decided that when hundreds of angry human shoppers and two cane toads are evacuated into a shopping mall car park on Christmas Eve, the cane toads, if they’ve got any sense, hide under a parked car.
‘Quick,’ he said to Goliath. ‘Hide under this parked car.’
Goliath didn’t try to argue. He was too busy complaining.
‘How could you?’ he said. ‘How could you think a firefighter was Santa? Just because their clothes are similar. And their beards. And their utes. And their dedication to peace and goodwill. How could you?’
Limpy sighed as they crouched under the car.
‘I’m sorry, Goliath,’ he said. ‘I made a mistake.’
‘A firefighter,’ said Goliath, ‘is not Santa.’
Limpy reminded himself how Goliath took a while to get used to things. Like the time he discovered that swamp slugs didn’t have kidneys, which were his favourite snack. For days afterwards he wandered around the swamp saying, ‘I can’t believe it’.
‘You thought a firefighter was Santa,’ said Goliath. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Limpy peered out from under the car, trying to see where the firefighters were. Perhaps he hadn’t made a mistake after all. Perhaps the firefighter with the beard was actually Santa doing a bit of volunteer fire fighting.
Silly idea, forget it.
‘This isn’t even the North Pole,’ muttered Goliath. ‘Santa doesn’t even live here.’
Limpy felt his warts starting to sag with disappointment and despair.
No, he thought, I’m not going to let that happen.
He perked his warts up.
OK, he said to himself. There must be other ways we can meet Santa and join his team and win the hearts of humans everywhere. Our quest isn’t a total failure yet.
Goliath had his head in his hands.
‘Our quest is a total failure,’ he wailed.
Limpy struggled to keep his warts perked.
‘Goliath,’ he said. ‘Do you remember when you found that nest of yummy stink-grubs high up in that tree. And you couldn’t knock them down, not even with a very long stick. You didn’t give up, did you?’
‘Yes I did,’ said Goliath. ‘I ate the stick.’
Limpy sighed and wished he’d thought of a better example.
‘Goliath,’ he said. ‘Have you still got those Santa hats?’
Goliath nodded and held up two soggy Santa hats. Limpy took one and put it on. Goliath put the other one on.
‘Brilliant,’ said Limpy. ‘My spirits are up already.’
‘Same here,’ said Goliath. ‘Now all I need to do is get my strength up.’
Before Limpy could stop him, Goliath hopped over to the people-mover parked next to them and started climbing up the side.
Limpy saw what was in the people-mover.
People.
In the drivers seat was a human lady fiddling with the CD player. In the back seats were human children busy with brightly coloured paper and sticky tape, wrapping presents.
Except for one child, who was eating pizza.
‘Goliath,’ yelled Limpy. ‘Come back.’
The rear window was partly open, and Goliath was already squeezing himself through the gap.
The busy humans hadn’t noticed.
Limpy didn’t have any choice.
He followed.
Limpy decided that when two cane toads squeeze themselves into a human people-mover uninvited, and the people-mover suddenly drives off, the cane toads, if they’ve got any sense, hide on the floor in the back under some crumpled Christmas wrapping paper.
Limpy huddled under the wrapping paper, hoping desperately that Goliath had the sense to do the same. With Goliath you could never be sure.
‘Goliath,’ whispered Limpy. ‘Are you OK?’
No reply.
Limpy didn’t panic. It was noisy in the people-mover with the throbbing engine and the rumbling wheels and the chattering humans. Goliath probably couldn’t hear him.
Just be patient, Limpy told himself. The people-mover will stop soon and the humans will get out and then we can go back to our quest. Just as long as Goliath hasn’t tried to take their pizza.
Limpy knew what human children could do when somebody tried to take their pizza.
It wasn’t pretty.
Finally the people-mover stopped and Limpy heard the doors opening.
He lay very still under the wrapping paper until the human voices drifted away, then he wriggled out and looked around.
No Goliath.
Just a human baby in a human baby seat, staring fiercely at Limpy.
Limpy gulped.
He knew human babies were very strong. He’d seen them on picnics, tearing sandwiches and fluffy toys apart with their bare hands. This baby looked pretty annoyed at being left in the people-mover while its family took the shopping into the house.
Limpy gulped again.
If the baby leapt at him and got its hands round his neck…
Then he saw with relief that the baby was strapped into the seat. But he also noticed something else, something that didn’t make him feel quite so relieved.
The baby was holding a Christmas present. And from inside the parcel was coming the muffled sound of a familiar indignant voice.
‘Limpy. Get me out of here.’
Limpy stared at the parcel.
‘Goliath,’ he said. ‘Is that you?’
‘Yes,’ said Goliath’s voice. ‘Help. I don’t want to be a Christmas present.’
Limpy leapt into action.
He started pulling funny faces and blowing raspberries with his skin pores and doing silly things with his bottom. Everything that always made Goliath clap his hands with delight.
It worked.
The baby clapped its hands with delight. The Christmas present tumbled onto the floor.
‘Ow,’ groaned the parcel. ‘Limpy. Help. You don’t have to wait till Christmas Day. Unwrap me now.’
Limpy tore at the paper. Gradually, as he ripped the layers off, Goliath appeared, still wearing his Santa hat, lying squashed against a plastic space warrier with a big sword.
Goliath struggled out of the last shreds of paper and sticky tape, and glared at the plastic warrier.
‘Thanks for not helping me escape,’ he said bitterly. ‘And next time, watch where you’re pointing that sword.’
The human baby was looking at Goliath and chuckling.
Goliath glared at the baby.
‘Come on,’ said Limpy to Goliath. ‘Let’s get out of here before the other humans come back.’
‘That kid’s lucky I haven’t got time to arm wrestle it,’ muttered Goliath, giving the baby a last stare.
They hopped out of the half-open door and hurried away from the people-mover as fast as they could.
Limpy looked around to see where they were.
A street, full of houses.
It was dusk and lights were coming on.
Limpy’s first thought was to stay away from the lights. Until he saw some lights he wanted to
get much closer to.
Further down the street, a house was covered in sparkling Christmas lights. And on the roof, brightest of all, made from millions of the tiny lights, was a huge twinkling picture of Santa and his sleigh.
‘Galloping gumnuts,’ gasped Goliath.
Limpy had to agree.
‘Stack me,’ he said. ‘Santa’s landing pad.’
‘Santa’s what?’ said Goliath.
‘When Santa’s approaching in the night sky,’ explained Limpy, ‘these lights help guide him in for a landing. Which is really good for us, because we get to meet him after all.’
‘We do?’ said Goliath. ‘How?’
‘Easy,’ said Limpy. ‘We just climb up on the roof and wait.’
‘Santa’s not coming,’ said Goliath gloomily for the millionth time.
Limpy thought about pushing Goliath off the roof, but only for a moment. Then he remembered how much he loved Goliath, and went back to staring up at the night sky.
Waiting.
Hoping.
There were plenty of stars and planets and fireflies, but nothing that looked like a sleigh, not even in the distance. The only Santa in sight was the one traced out in sparkling lights around Limpy and Goliath on the roof.
‘This is the worst Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,’ moaned Goliath.
Limpy sighed.
They’d been waiting most of the night. Where was Santa? It didn’t seem fair after all the effort they’d put into reaching the landing pad.
Climbing up onto the roof of a human house was hard enough, specially with a crook leg. It was even harder when you were lugging a sock full of presents you’d collected to add to Santa’s supply and show what a good helper you were.
‘Our quest is a total failure,’ moaned Goliath.
Limpy struggled to keep his warts from drooping.
‘I’m not gunna get any pizza from Santa,’ said Goliath, ‘so it’s a total failure.’ He took off his Santa hat and started chewing it mournfully. ‘We’ll be dead of old age and hunger before he arrives.’
Limpy pulled his own Santa hat firmly onto his head and made a decision.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s start without him.’
Goliath gave Limpy a doubtful look.
‘Start?’ he said. ‘Refuelling the reindeer?’
‘No,’ said Limpy. ‘Delivering gifts to humans.’
Goliath stared.
‘Without Santa?’ he said.
‘Why not?’ said Limpy. ‘That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To share Christmas peace and goodwill with humans so they’ll want to be our friends.’
Goliath gave another doubtful look, this time at the two bulging Christmas socks.
‘It’s OK,’ said Limpy. ‘We’re the ones who borrowed these socks from a human washing line. We’re the ones who spent ages collecting all the gifts. We’re allowed to hand them out.’
Now Goliath was looking confused.
‘I thought these gifts were for us,’ he said. ‘To give each other for Christmas.’
Limpy stared at Goliath. He suddenly had a strong urge to give Goliath a hug.
Stack me, he thought. This must be what Christmas peace and goodwill is all about. One moment you want to push your cousin off a roof for being so annoying, and the next you wouldn’t swap him for the biggest slug sausage in the world.
Limpy heaved his sock onto his shoulder.
‘Come on,’ he said to Goliath. ‘Put your hat on, grab your sock and let’s get down that chimney.’
‘This chimney’s very slimy and greasy,’ said Goliath. ‘I like it.’
In the darkness Limpy couldn’t see what Goliath was doing, but he could hear sounds of licking and lip-smacking.
‘Are all chimneys this yummy?’ said Goliath.
‘It’s not actually a chimney,’ said Limpy. ‘Human houses don’t have chimneys here in the tropics. The Christmas beetle reckons that round here, Santa usually comes in through the kitchen fan exhaust pipe.’
‘Yum,’ said Goliath. ‘Clever Santa.’
They squeezed past some greasy plastic fan blades. Limpy hoped they were almost at the end of the exhaust pipe. His sock was starting to feel very heavy.
Up ahead he could see faint light coming in through some sort of round door with holes in it.
Hope we can open that, thought Limpy. I’m sure we can, or else how would Santa get in?
‘Ow,’ said Limpy as he landed on the kitchen bench with a thud.
The drop was further than it looked.
‘You OK?’ said Goliath next to him.
‘Just a bit dazed,’ said Limpy, pulling his Santa hat back on.
‘I know how you feel,’ said Goliath. ‘My foot went really dazed when I kicked that round door out.’
Luckily the kitchen bench was next to a window, so the benchtop was in bright moonlight and Limpy found their gift-filled socks without any trouble.
The trouble started when he turned back to Goliath.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’ said Limpy anxiously.
Goliath was fiddling with something on the benchtop. It was plastic and it had a windscreen.
‘I think it’s a mobile phone,’ said Goliath. ‘it’s a bit like the one I almost swallowed once at a human camp site. I’ve almost got it switched on.’
‘Leave it,’ begged Limpy. ‘If it rings, it’ll wake up the humans.’
‘But we could give Santa a call,’ said Goliath. ‘Let him know things are going OK here. Ask him how he usually gets out of a house when the kitchen fan exhaust pipe is too high up to hop back into.’
‘Goliath,’ said Limpy, exasperated.
‘You’re right,’ said Goliath, sagging. ‘We haven’t got his number.’
‘It’ll be OK,’ said Limpy, giving his cousin a pat on the warts. ‘We’ll find a way out. But first we’ve got work to do.’
He pushed one of the socks towards Goliath and heaved the other one onto his shoulder.
Then he stopped and stared.
At the other end of the benchtop, two big fluffy balls had suddenly appeared, one white and one grey. They looked like they were from two gigantic Santa hats.
But Limpy realised they weren’t.
Santa-hat fluffy bits didn’t have eyes. Or, when they yawned, very sharp-looking teeth.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said one of the big fluffy balls. ‘And why are you carrying those silly socks?’
‘Just our luck,’ muttered Goliath. ‘Cats. I don’t like cats. They always say really hurtful things and start fights.’
Limpy took a step towards the cats and tried to look friendly and full of Christmas peace and goodwill.
‘Season’s greetings,’ he said. ‘We’re Santa’s helpers. We’ve come bearing gifts for the humans of the house. And the pets too, of course.’
‘What sort of gifts?’ said the white cat.
‘Lots of things,’ said Limpy, rummaging around in his sock. ‘Some lovely dead ants, and some gumnuts, and some gravel that really helps your digestion when you get bunged up, and …’
He decided to show them, and tipped the contents of his sock out onto the benchtop.
The cats looked at everything. Limpy could see they weren’t impressed.
He nudged Goliath, who tipped out his sock too.
‘We’ve got some dried beetle wings,’ said Limpy. ‘They’re very beautiful when you hold them up in the moonlight.’
He saw that the contents of Goliath’s sock was mostly dried mud.
‘Where are the beetle wings?’ he whispered to Goliath.
‘Um,’ said Goliath. ‘I ate them.’
Limpy turned back to the cats, who were trying not to snigger. He pushed the pile of gifts towards them.
‘Happy Christmas,’ he said, still trying to look friendly and full of peace and goodwill.
‘Very kind,’ said the grey cat. ‘But tragically pathetic.’
‘Ungrateful fluff-ball,’ muttered Goliath. ‘What you
need is an arm wrestle.’
‘Come with us,’ said the white cat to Limpy and Goliath. ‘There’s something you should see.’
As Limpy followed the cats into the lounge room, he could hear the distant sounds of human snoring from the other end of the house.
That was a relief at least.
The humans were safely asleep.
Then the white cat prodded a lamp switch with its paw, and Limpy saw something that didn’t make him feel very relieved at all.
In the centre of the room was a Christmas tree. It was much smaller than the one in the shopping mall, but around it, almost blocking it from view, were piles of presents.
Big presents, wrapped in gold and silver paper.
Loads of them.
‘Leaping lizard legs,’ said Goliath. ‘That’s a lot of pizzas.’
‘Musical cat bowl,’ said the white cat, pointing to one of the shiny boxes. ‘I saw our owners wrapping it.’
‘Brushed-nylon leopard-skin sleeping pod,’ said the grey cat, pointing to another wrapped box. ‘With my initials on it.’
‘And,’ said the white cat, ‘we’re both getting mechanical mice that are also MP3 players.’
‘Plus,’ said the grey cat, ‘there are the things our owners are giving each other. Coffee-making machine, blu-ray video recorder, his and hers imported tracksuits, automatic lint-remover …’
‘They couldn’t get the lint-remover,’ said the white cat. ‘Sold out, remember?’
‘Oh yes, that’s right,’ said the grey cat. ‘They were really disappointed.’
And they weren’t the only ones.
Limpy caught sight of his reflection in the side of a big silver-wrapped box. He saw how much his warts were drooping. And his bottom lip as well.
He knew why.
The cats were right.
Compared to these gifts, dead ants and gravel did seem a bit tragically pathetic. Limpy couldn’t imagine them winning the friendship of many humans, not even ones who were bunged up.
‘Thank you,’ Limpy said to the cats. ‘You’ve been very kind.’
‘No they haven’t,’ hissed Goliath, glaring at the cats. ‘They’ve been very pooey.’
But Limpy felt grateful to the cats. Because now he knew exactly what he and Goliath had to do.
Limpy hopped out through the cat door into a moonlit backyard.
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