Free Toad Rage by Morris Gleitzman

be if I'd just discovered I was an unloved species.”
    “We're not upset,” said Goliath menacingly to the kangaroo. “And we're not unloved. I love my cousin Limpy and he loves me.”
    Limpy nodded. But only for a moment because he was feeling so upset.
    The kangaroo was right.
    How could I have been so stupid, thought Limpy miserably. How could I have imagined I could have a real friendship with a human? How could I think humans would want to make a fluffy toy out of me?
    “Sorry,” the kangaroo was saying. “Didn't mean to rub it in. If it makes you feel any better, imagine what it's like for me. Humans love me. I'm on the Australian coat of arms. And every travel show ever made about this country. Plus most of the cooking shows. Imagine how I felt when the Games Mascot Committee gave me the thumbs-down.”
    The kangaroo blew its nose loudly on a tissue.
    A koala put its arm round the kangaroo. “I know how you feel, mate,” it said, and took a swig from a bottle.
    “At least they didn't try and swat you,” said a blowfly indignantly.
    “Or rush out of the room screaming,” said a diamond-bellied black snake sadly.
    “Or scratch you off the list,” said a flea bitterly.
    “I wouldn't be a mascot now if they came on their hands and knees and begged,” said a funnel-web spider. “Not after all the unkind things they said about me in that committee room.”
    “At least they said them to your face,” said a crocodile. “All I got was a letter.”
    “I wouldn't be a mascot now if they offered me a million dollars,” said a wombat.
    “I wouldn't be one,” said a blue-tongued lizard, “if they offered me a million carports with cracks in the foundations big enough to raise a family in.”
    “I wouldn't be one if they offered me a million sticks of sugarcane,” said a cane beetle.
    “Or a million sticks,” said Goliath, snatching a tissue and blowing his nose.
    Limpy listened to the hurt, indignant voices of the animals and insects around him, and suddenly he felt his warts prickling with anger.
    “What I reckon,” he said, “is that we've all been treated shabbily by our country.”
    The other animals and insects fell silent.
    They turned to look at Limpy.
    “These Games,” continued Limpy, his voice ringing off the wet walls, “are meant to be about a universal spirit of friendship. That's what they're always showing on telly. Well, the humans haven't shown us much friendship. I reckon we're better off not being a part of such an unfriendly Games. When we look back at all this, I reckon we won't have to feel sad for one minute about not being mascots.”
    The animals and insects looked at him, eyes shining.
    Then they all burst into mournful cries.
    “Yes, we will,” wailed a fruit bat. “We'll feel sad and worthless for the rest of our lives.”
    Limpy turned away, close to wailing himself. He wished he could have been more help.
    Oh well, he thought miserably, at least this lot are only feeling flat. At least they won't actually be flat. Not like poor Mum and Dad and Charm and the others at home.
    Then Limpy felt a tugging at his elbow. He looked down. It was the cane beetle.
    “Don't feel so bad,” said the beetle. “At least your other country hasn't let you down.”
    Limpy looked at the beetle, puzzled. “What other country?” he said. “I was born in Australia.”
    “Cane toads are from South America,” said the beetle. “Your ancestors were imported. They were shipped to Australia to eat us cane beetles.”
    Limpy tried to digest this.
    “That's dopey,” he said. “You lot live too far off the ground for us to eat you. It's a known fact.”
    “Exactly,” said the beetle. “But the sugar industry blokes who brought you over didn't think of that.”
    Limpy's head was spinning.
    Imported?
    “You're sure you're not confusing us with avocados?” he said.
    “Ask that bloke,” said the beetle, pointing at the TV screen in the bar above them. Limpy looked up. On the screen