Toad Away - Morris Gleitzman [9]
Goliath glared back toward the supermarket.
“Because you've gone soft,” he growled. “Wasting time trying to make friends. If we're gunna win this war, we've got to hit those humans where it hurts. Pee in their drinks. Pee in their beds if we have to.”
Limpy sighed. And not just because his cousin was an idiot. He was remembering the girl's angry face as she stared down at him, so furious she hadn't even noticed the bladders of sauce and moisturizer squashed under her shoes.
It was the face of someone who'd never be his friend now, not even if sludge worms could fly.
“I'm gunna train whole battalions of cane toads,” said Goliath, eyes shining. “And we're gunna pee in every dam, reservoir, and car radiator we can find.”
“I think we should pick our targets more carefully,” said Charm, squirting pus at a pair of human trousers hanging on a washing line and hitting them right between the legs. “That way we won't hurt innocent bystanders. What do you reckon, Limpy?”
Limpy didn't say anything. He was too busy trying to get the three of them safely across this human backyard, and the next one, until they were out of the human suburb and out of the hot sun and home in the swamp.
“Don't be depressed, Limpy,” said Charm. “You did your best. It's not your fault your way didn't work.”
“Luckily we've still got my way,” said Goliath.
“Cream the mongrels.”
“Keep hopping,” said Limpy, glancing anxiously at the house whose flower beds they were hurrying through. He didn't want an angry human spotting them and making Goliath depressed too. With a chain saw.
Goliath gave a yell.
“Look! Over there! A prisoner of war!”
Limpy looked.
In a cage was a small bird that was even more colorful than one of Mum's butterfly and wasp casseroles. The cage was hanging from one of those complicated revolving metal things that Goliath reckoned were high-tech military helicopters used by humans to kill cane toads. And to dry clothes.
Goliath was wriggling across the lawn toward the cage on his stomach.
Limpy sighed. Only one more backyard to go and they'd be safely out of the suburb. Why did Goliath have to pick now to do a bad commando impersonation?
“We can't just leave the poor thing a prisoner,” said Charm.
“No,” said Limpy wearily. “You're right.”
He and Charm followed Goliath to the cage.
“G'day,” said the bird when they got there.
“Just act natural,” Goliath hissed at the bird. “We're gunna get you out of here. Where are the guards?”
The bird stared at him. “Guards?” it said. Then it chuckled. “Don't be dopey. I like it here.”
Limpy frowned in surprise.
Goliath nearly fell over. “Like it?” he croaked.
“I get six meals a day,” said the bird. “I've got my own mirror. And I get to fly around the living room on Sundays. What do you reckon?”
“He's been brainwashed,” muttered Goliath to Limpy. “Military intelligence have washed his brain. And rinsed it.”
“Goliath,” said Charm. “He's a pet.”
Limpy realized she was right. He knew what pets were. He'd seen them on the back shelves of passing cars. Cats and dogs, mostly. They'd seemed pretty happy, judging by how often they nodded their heads.
“A pet?” said Goliath, confused. “Not a prisoner of war? Then why's he chained to a military clothes-drying device?”
Limpy looked pleadingly at Charm, hoping she'd do the explaining so they could leave.
“You lot are cane toads, aren't you?” said the bird.
Limpy nodded.
“I'm related to you,” said the bird.
Now it was Limpy's turn to be confused. The bird had feathers and a beak and not one visible wart.
“I say related,” continued the bird. “What I really mean is, we come from the same place.”
“Where's that?” asked Goliath suspiciously. “I've never seen you around the swamp.”
“Pet shop in town,” said the bird. “The one next to the dry cleaner's. But originally my species and your species both came from the Amazon River region in a place called Brazil. Both been there since time began, apparently. A guinea pig in the pet shop told me.”
Limpy's