‘World of his own,’ said Limpy apologetically to the cats.
The white cat nodded understandingly as if it also had a cousin who tried to stab trucks, which Limpy thought was very kind.
He struggled to remember if he’d seen a photo of Stan anywhere in Stan’s house or ute. He was still thinking when Goliath hopped back up onto the desk with the mobile phone.
‘Aha,’ said the white cat. ‘This looks interesting.’
Goliath carefully put the phone down on the desk and punched one of the buttons with his fist. The phone screen lit up.
With a photo of Stan.
Limpy stared.
‘I took it to help me remember Uncle Vasco,’ said Goliath.
In the photo Stan was sitting at his kitchen table staring wistfully at Uncle Vasco’s wrinkles.
‘Watching humans didn’t just teach me about burping and nose-picking,’ said Goliath. ‘I also learned about mobile phones. And making duck noises under my arm.’
Limpy was so amazed he could hardly speak.
‘You know how to take photos with a phone?’ he said to Goliath.
Goliath nodded proudly.
‘Watch,’ he said.
He put the mobile on its side and posed in front of it with his Santa hat at a jaunty angle.
‘Press the big button,’ he said.
Limpy pressed it. There was a bright flash and Goliath’s photo appeared on the phone screen.
‘Stack me,’ said Limpy.
‘Your cousin’s a clever bloke,’ said the white cat to Limpy.
‘Not just an ugly face,’ said the grey cat.
The white cat picked up a computer lead in its mouth, slid the shiny metal end into the back of the phone, and prodded a button until the photos of Stan and Goliath appeared on the computer screen.
‘There,’ said the white cat after one more click. ‘Done.’
Limpy felt a bit dazed.
‘That’s amazing,’ he said. ‘Stan’s photo has gone out over the internet?’
‘And your cousin’s,’ said the white cat.
‘Maybe he’ll make a new friend who’ll teach him about sharing,’ muttered the grey cat.
Limpy put a nervous hand on Goliath’s arm.
But it was OK. No fights broke out. Goliath hadn’t even heard what the grey cat said. He was too busy gazing at his photo on the computer screen.
‘This peace and goodwill caper’s not bad,’ he said. ‘Makes me look really handsome.’
Limpy gave the cats a grateful grin.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘And good on you, Goliath. You might just have made a lonely human very happy.’
‘He’d better be,’ muttered Goliath, ‘or I’ll stab the mongrel.’
Limpy and Goliath left through the cat door.
‘Bye,’ Limpy called to the cats. ‘Thanks again.’
On the other side of the door, the cats were both waving.
‘Thanks for the hat,’ called Goliath.
Limpy saw the grey cat mutter something, and the white cat give it a stern glare.
As Limpy and Goliath hopped down the driveway in the moonlight, Limpy heard the mobile phone ringing inside the house. The ring tone was an unusual one. It sounded a bit like the noise a stink beetle makes when you blow into its bottom.
‘Goliath,’ said Limpy. ‘Did you change the ring tone?’
Goliath grinned. ‘They just had boring old music,’ he said.
Limpy rolled his eyes.
Oh well, at least now the humans in the house would be able to spend Christmas night staying in touch with their loved ones.
Limpy sighed. He wondered how long till he and Goliath would be able do that. Talk to Mum and Dad and Charm.
It could take days to get home.
Weeks even.
And when we finally get there, thought Limpy sadly, I’ll have to break the news to the others that humans still aren’t our friends.
Limpy pushed the thought away. No point worrying about that yet. First they had to get home.
Limpy and Goliath headed down the street towards the stormwater drain.
They hadn’t gone very far when human shouts rang out in the darkness.
Limpy recognised the sort of shouts they were. The delighted ones humans give when they spot a cane toad and are looking forward to a bit of stabbing and squashing.
Which, Limpy thought grimly, humans like to do right through the year, including Christmas night.
‘Hop for it,’ he said.
While he and Goliath hopped, Limpy looked over his shoulder. He squinted into the haze from the streetlights, trying to see how far away the humans were. Desperately trying to work out if he and Goliath would get to the drain with their inside bits still inside them.
The answer looked like being no.
The yelling humans weren’t the cat owners, they were a group of teenagers sprinting out of the front yard of a nearby house.
And they were very close now.
‘Goliath,’ yelled Limpy. ‘Hop faster. Don’t wait for me.’
Limpy knew if he hopped any faster himself, his crook leg would make him go round in circles. He wondered if a bit of poison spray from his glands would slow the humans down so Goliath could get away.
‘Forget it,’ said Goliath, pulling his Santa hat firmly onto his head and staying at Limpy’s side. ‘I’m not leaving you.’
Limpy’s final thought, as he got ready to be squashed and stabbed, and his inside bits got ready to be left dangling from powerlines, was that he was very lucky to have a cousin who was not only quite smart, but also very loving.
Except, to Limpy’s surprise, he and Goliath weren’t squashed or stabbed.
Instead, Limpy saw something amazing.
The human teenagers were pointing at him and Goliath and shouting and laughing, but not in a cruel way.
In a friendly way.
Limpy stared.
Slowly he realised what was happening.
At last, he thought happily.
Christmas goodwill.
Then a human foot thudded into his warts and he sailed across the street and landed in a hedge.
For a while Limpy was too dazed and sore and upside down to see what was going on. But when he finally sorted out which was his bottom and which was his head, he peered out through the leaves and saw another amazing thing.
The human teenagers had picked Goliath up.
Goliath wasn’t spraying them with poison or stabbing them with sticks or doing anything violent.
He looked like he was enjoying himself.
That’s odd, thought Limpy. Goliath normally hates being touched by anyone who’s not slimy. He must just be feeling relieved because the humans didn’t boot him across the street.
One of the teenagers was holding Goliath gently in both hands while the others crowded round, pointing and laughing, still in a friendly way.
Then Limpy noticed something else.
It wasn’t so much Goliath the laughing teenagers were pointing at delightedly, it was the Santa hat on his head.
Limpy crept across the dark lawn towards the house where the humans were keeping Goliath prisoner.
As he got closer, he listened anxiously for sounds of pain. When Goliath clamped his teeth onto something, he didn’t let go, not even if it was something yucky like a human finger.
But there were no sounds of pain.
Just humans laughing and Goliath burping.
Limpy peered out from behind a bush and saw that the human teenagers were gathered on a deck. Sitting on a table in the middle of them was Goliath, looking pretty happy for a prisoner. The teenagers were patting him on the Santa hat and feeding him bits of food.
‘Actually,’ said Goliath, ‘the turkey’s a bit dry. Can we go with some more of the smoked salmon?’
Limpy knew the teenagers couldn’t understand what Goliath was saying, but to Limpy’s amazement they kept putting food into Goliath’s mouth.
I don’t get it, though
t Limpy. They kick me and feed him. What’s going on?
‘He looks so cute in that hat,’ said one of the teenagers.
‘Like a warty little Santa,’ said another, patting Goliath’s fluffy bobble.
‘He’s my favourite Facebook friend,’ said a third.
Limpy didn’t understand the language, but from the grins on all the teenagers’ faces, he was pretty sure they were saying something like, ‘This is so cool because if we hadn’t met this cane toad, we’d have to cart these food scraps all the way out to the garbage bin.’
Limpy frowned.
He still didn’t get it.
The garbage bin was right next to the deck.
Limpy sent Goliath an urgent croak, one of the very low-pitched ones that cane toads can hear but humans can’t. Or if they can, they just think their bathroom pipes are blocked.
‘Goliath,’ the croak said. ‘Try to escape. We’ve got a long trip home.’
Goliath heard it.
Limpy saw him glance over, and then pretend he hadn’t heard.
‘Any more mango ice-cream?’ Goliath said to the teenagers. ‘Or gherkins?’
Limpy sighed and sent Goliath another urgent croak.
Finally Goliath ate a very big piece of Christmas cake and threw up.
At last, thought Limpy gratefully.
He waited while the human teenagers groaned in disgust and went indoors, then he hopped out from behind the bush and up onto the deck.
‘Come on,’ Limpy said to Goliath, who was dozing like he always did when he’d just eaten twice his own body weight.
Goliath didn’t argue. Just blinked and scratched his warts and burped a few times and pulled his Santa hat onto his head and followed Limpy out of the backyard.
Limpy tried to remember the way to the stormwater drain.
‘That was amazing,’ said Goliath as they hopped along the street. ‘Those humans went for my rugged warty good looks big time.’
‘I’ve got another theory,’ said Limpy.
‘My magnetic personality?’ said Goliath.
‘I think it was the hat,’ said Limpy. ‘I think that’s the mistake we’ve been making. There is peace and goodwill at Christmas, but to get it you need to wear a Santa hat.’
Goliath took off his Santa hat and frowned at it.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I reckon it was my good looks.’
Limpy didn’t argue.
He was too busy going rigid with alarm.
Two humans, a man and a woman, were walking arm in arm towards them along the street.
‘Quick,’ said Limpy, hopping into the gutter and peering frantically around for the stormwater drain.
Goliath lifted him back onto the footpath.
‘What are you doing?’ said Limpy.
‘Checking out your theory,’ said Goliath.
He put the Santa hat onto Limpy’s head, then waved and yelled at the human couple, who were quite close now.
‘Hey, smoothies,’ he shouted. ‘Who do you like better, me or the skinny kid in the hat?’
‘Goliath,’ pleaded Limpy. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’
But Goliath wasn’t listening. Specially not after the man’s boot thudded into his warts and sent him howling across the street into a hedge.
‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ grunted Goliath as Limpy brushed twigs and bird poo off him.
‘I think it does,’ said Limpy.
‘It’s my looks and personality they go for,’ said Goliath, studying his reflection in the window of a corner shop.
‘I think it’s the hat,’ said Limpy. ‘I think humans only feel Christmas peace and goodwill when they see a Santa hat.’
Goliath shook his head.
‘That’s dopey,’ he said. ‘And I’m gunna prove it to you. Stay here.’
He steered Limpy into the shadow of the shop doorway, then hopped back out onto the footpath. The light from a street lamp made the warts on his bare head twinkle.
Limpy saw that another human, a man wearing white shorts and carrying a tennis racquet, was strolling along the street towards Goliath.
‘Goliath,’ begged Limpy. ‘Take the hat, please.’
Goliath ignored him.
Limpy couldn’t look. He turned away. But he could still hear.
‘G’day, mate,’ he heard Goliath say. ‘Get any good pizzas for Christmas?’
Then a swish.
Then a howl.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Goliath, crawling back into the shop doorway. ‘He whacked me. Just cause I wasn’t wearing the dumb hat.’
Goliath winced as he tried to straighten a couple of bent warts on his head.
‘Me,’ said Goliath, ‘with my dazzling personality.’
‘Are you convinced now?’ said Limpy as he dusted Goliath down again.
‘No,’ grunted Goliath. ‘I reckon that human was a psycho. I’m gunna test this dumb theory one more time.’
Before Limpy could stop him, Goliath grabbed the Santa hat and put it on. Then he hopped towards another group of humans coming along the street. Two grown-ups and several kids, laughing and chatting with armfuls of presents.
‘Be careful, Goliath,’ whispered Limpy anxiously as he hopped back into the shop doorway.
He heard Goliath yelling at the humans.
‘You’re all idiots,’ shouted Goliath, ‘ and you can’t hop and your yucky smooth skin makes you look like prawns.’
Limpy heard the humans making happy friendly noises.
He heard Goliath yell more insults.
But only for a while.
Then Limpy heard loud chewing sounds.
As soon as the human chatter had faded into the distance, Limpy hopped anxiously out of the doorway.
Goliath, still wearing the Santa hat, was standing in the middle of the footpath, chewing.
And frowning.
‘Amazing,’ he said. ‘I did my best insults to those mongrels and they still let me choose a present.’
He swallowed and burped.
‘I chose a yummy toilet deodorant block,’ he said.
‘And …?’ said Limpy, waiting for Goliath to admit it was the hat that had done it.
‘Those mongrels must be psycho too,’ said Goliath.
It took a long time to find a stormwater drain.
This was mostly because Limpy and Goliath only had the one Santa hat between them. Which meant only one of them could wear it. Which meant that all the humans they met were only nice to one of them.
Which finally convinced Goliath.
‘I was right,’ he said. ‘It is the hat.’
Goliath gobbled a fistful of lollies and posed so some human kids in the back of a car could take his photo in the Santa hat.
Limpy groaned as he crawled out of the pothole he’d dived into when the car tried to run him over.
Why did Goliath take so long to grasp an idea?
It’s not really his fault, thought Limpy. He just gets a bit distracted by lollies and Christmas cake and ice-cream and deodorant blocks and gherkins.
The car drove off.
‘Come on,’ said Limpy, pointing across the street. ‘Here’s a stormwater drain at last.’
‘I’ve had an idea,’ said Goliath. ‘Let’s make Stan a Christmas card. With a picture that shows him he won’t be lonely if he gets himself a Santa hat.’
‘Good idea,’ said Limpy.
Then he told Goliath the idea he’d had.
‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful,’ said Limpy, ‘if we all had Santa hats.’
‘What,’ said Goliath, ‘me and you and Stan?’
‘All of us,’ said Limpy. ‘Mum and Dad and Charm and everyone.’
He watched as Goliath’s eyes went wide at the thought.
‘I reckon,’ said Limpy, ‘if we did, humans would be our friends for ever.’
‘I still don’t understand where we’re gunna get heaps and heaps of Santa hats,’ said Goliath as he and Limpy hopped across Stan’s front yard in the mo
onlight.
Limpy didn’t reply.
He wasn’t sure himself.
All he knew was that if he could get a Santa hat onto the head of every cane toad in the swamp, flat rellies would be a thing of the past.
Goliath stopped hopping and took his Santa hat off.
‘We could all share this one,’ he said. ‘Boys one day, girls the next. Kids on even days, grown-ups on odd days. If your birthday’s in the second half of the month you divide the number of warts on your left buttock into the number of swamp slugs you can fit into your mouth and subtract …’
Goliath’s calculations trailed off.
Limpy knew why. One hat among them all would never work. Plus there was something else he wanted to do with Goliath’s Santa hat.
‘I want to leave this one with Stan,’ said Limpy. ‘So he knows what’s he’s looking for when he goes to get one that’ll fit him.’
Goliath didn’t reply. He just stared past Limpy, eyes big and unblinking.
For a moment Limpy thought Goliath had hurt his brain trying to do maths. Then he became aware of a scary noise. A growling slobbering noise that didn’t sound like happy Christmas in anyone’s language.
Limpy turned.
And almost fainted.
Towering over him was the huge dog from next door, angry red eyes glaring, massive teeth glinting wet in the moonlight.
‘H-hello,’ stammered Limpy. ‘Er, how did you get over the fence?’
‘My owner got a trampoline for Christmas,’ rumbled the dog.
Limpy gulped.
He could feel Goliath trembling next to him.
‘Right,’ said Limpy. ‘Um, about last time, when you might have heard my cousin call you dog-breath and a mongrel and say something about you being history. He’s very sorry. We both are.’
The dog scowled, which amazed Limpy.
He’d thought the dog was scowling before.
‘That’s not what I want to talk to you about,’ growled the dog.
‘Oh, r-right,’ stammered Limpy. ‘Is there something else we should be saying sorry about?’
‘Yes,’ rumbled the dog. ‘Him.’
Limpy peered, trying to see what the dog was pointing at.
It was a puppy, not much bigger than Goliath, standing in the big dog’s shadow. The puppy had a ribbon tied round its neck.
‘Hello,’ said the puppy.
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