LITMIR.BIZ

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his very best to ignore.

      The clock radio on the Grinch’s chest of drawers clicked from 6:59 to 7:00. The radio began to play a loud and jolly song.

      The Grinch’s eyes popped open. Groaning, he stretched his furry green hand out from underneath the blankets and found a stack of books on his bedside table. He picked one up and threw it across the room at the radio. WHOMP!

      But the radio just kept playing. Now a different, even jollier, even LOUDER Christmas tune was playing.

      The Grinch threw a tennis racquet at the radio. WHACK! The station changed to one playing yet another Christmas song.

      Enraged, the Grinch finally threw a lamp at the clock radio, knocking it off the drawers and into a deep crevice in the rock. “Humph,” said the Grinch. But just as he gave a satisfied little smile …

      … the tinny notes of a festive tune drifted up from the rocky depths. It was still playing.

      The Grinch sighed. “MAX!” he yelled. He yanked a rope next to his bed. Bells rang out through the cave. DING-A-LING-A-LING!

      Max woke up right away. His master needed him! Tail wagging, he got to work making the Grinch’s morning cup of coffee.

      Max did ALL the household chores, and the cave was full of pulleys and levers to help him. He now ran up some steps to a small platform, pushing the plunger down into a coffee pot to fill a cup. With a measuring jug gripped tightly between his teeth, Max poured steamed milk to draw a frowny face on top of the Grinch’s coffee. Just how the boss liked it!

      With the coffee carefully balanced on a tray on top of his head Max backed into a mini-lift. He pulled down on a handle, and the creaky old lift slowly carried him up to the Grinch’s bedroom.

      DING! The lift door swung open and Max stepped out, careful not to spill a drop of the coffee.

      Groaning and grunting, the Grinch took the hot drink, stood up and slid his feet into his slippers. He slowly walked to the bathroom, accompanied by the distant sound of Christmas songs playing from the bottom of the dark cavern. He grimaced.

      “A shower’s just the thing to drown out that racket,” he growled.

      The Grinch lingered a while in the shower, trying to forget about Christmas. When he stepped out, a blow-dryer turned on automatically, fluffing him up like a dandelion clock. He walked through a frame lined with bristles which brushed his fur and smoothed it down.

      Meanwhile, Max scurried into the Grinch’s wardrobe to fetch his master’s outfit for the day. Using his mouth, he tugged the cord to turn on the wardrobe light. Then he flipped through all the pairs of green trousers on labelled hangers. The labels read:

      BAD DAY

      DISGRUNTLED

      GRUMPY

      MISERABLE

      NASTY

      VERY MISERABLE

      WRETCHED

      Max pondered the selection. With Christmas so near, the choice was obvious: VERY MISERABLE. Max pulled the trousers off the hanger and handed them to the Grinch, who snapped them on. SNAP!

      Looking in the mirror, the Grinch used a finger to swirl up the curly tuft of green fur on the top of his head, saying, “Boop!” He swirled Max’s tuft up, too. “Boop!” Max wagged his tail.

      Now he looked his very best (or indeed, worst), the Grinch was ready for the day ahead. But first, breakfast!

      The Grinch crossed his bedroom and plopped down into a big red chair under an opening in the ceiling. His weight triggered a spring that lifted the chair up through the hole and into the dining room. He arrived right at his place at the table.

      Max, who had already hurried up to the dining room, yanked another rope. This rope snaked through a system of pulleys that lifted the cover off the Grinch’s plate.

      “Ooh, I am starving!” the Grinch said, leaning forward to see what delicious dish Max had prepared for his breakfast. He blinked.

      Sitting on the plate was a single bean.

      

      The Grinch turned to Max for an explanation. “What is this?” he demanded.

      “Arf! Arf! Arf!” Max barked.

      “No, no, no, no,” the Grinch said, shaking his head. “That’s impossible! We can’t be out of food!”

      He ran to the kitchen. Every cupboard he flung open was empty. “Where’s my personal reserve of Moose Juice and Goose Juice?” he cried. “My emergency stash of Who Hash? And my secret slew of frozen Beezle-Nut Stew?”

      The Grinch stared at the empty shelves. “I specifically bought enough food to last until January!” He patted his stomach guiltily. “How much comfort eating have I been doing?”

      The cupboard containing Max’s dog food was also empty. Max’s tummy rumbled loudly and he stared at the Grinch with his big eyes.

      The Grinch held up his hands, protesting, “No, I won’t. I will not.” He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “I am not going to Who-ville during Chrrr …” He struggled to spit out the word he hated so much. “Chrisss … argh! Chrrriii … Christmas! Ugh!”

      Max nudged his empty food bowl towards the Grinch.

      “Fine,” he said at last. “But I’m going to despise every second of it.”

      Oh, the Grinch HATED Christmas! And he especially hated Who-ville at Christmas time. No one knew why, but the rumour was that his heart was two sizes too small.

      As the wind howled and sleet blew, the Grinch and Max trudged through the twisted iron gates and headed down Mt. Crumpit into Who-ville. The Grinch’s long red-and-white-striped scarf flapped around his neck in the bracing breeze.

      In Who-ville, it was a busy, bustling morning. The whole town was covered in Christmas decorations, making it look as though it had been built out of gingerbread. Every shop window, every street lamp and every bench was decked out with garlands and tinsel. The place positively glowed with good cheer and excitement.

      A bus pulled up to a stop, and the driver leaned out to greet one of the waiting Whos. “Hey, Ted!” the driver called out in a friendly voice.

      “Morning!” Ted said as he climbed aboard. Other passengers behind him said their cheerful good mornings as the doors closed and the bus pulled away from the snowy curb. VROOM!

      Down the street, Donna Who saw the bus moving away. She was going to miss it! “Wait!” she shouted, beginning to run. “Wait, hold the bus!” She dodged other Whos on the pavement as she ran. “Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through!”

      Sam, the driver, finally heard Donna yelling outside. “Oh!” he said when he saw her. He stopped the bus straight away and opened the doors.

      “Oof!” Donna grunted as she tripped and fell in the snow beside the bus. She picked herself up and climbed the steps, brushing snow off her coat and trousers.

      “Sorry, Donna,” the driver apologised.

      “That’s okay, Sam,” she replied. “Thanks for stopping! Phew!”

      Under her winter coat, Donna had on the medical scrubs she wore for her job as a nurse. She dug

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