Part 1, Episode 12: "An Addition to the Family"

Conrad began stirring from his impromptu nap and felt two beady little eyes staring at him. When his eyes flickered open, he saw a small furry object perched on his chest, apparently scoping him out. Instinctively thinking this animal was a robust mouse, he jumped off the couch and screamed. The animal, probably terrified at the racket Conrad was making, dug in with his claws and hung onto his shirt.

“Get off, get off!” Conrad shrieked, terrified of being bitten by this potentially disease-ridden vermin. Afraid to touch it, Conrad swung his torso rapidly from side to side, trying to shake the creature off his shirt. When this didn’t work, he began looking for an object to pry it off, perhaps a pancake turner or spatula.

As Conrad began rummaging around the kitchen, the door opened and Freddie walked through. “Hey, Conrad, I’m glad to see you’ve met Junior. Isn’t he adorable?”

Conrad stopped dead in his tracks. Freddie, the guy in the ferret suit, had obtained a pet mouse, he thought. “Is there any way to get Junior off me?” Conrad asked, his tone betraying his agitation.
“Sure. Come here, Junior,” Freddie said, approaching Conrad and extending his left paw, or arm, or whatever it is. Obediently, Junior detached his front claws from Conrad’s now ruined dress shirt and placed them on Freddie’s fur. He quickly followed with the back claws and snuggled Freddie’s arm, paw, whatever.

“WHAT is Junior?” Conrad adamantly asked Freddie.

“Why, he’s a little ferret kit. I just picked him up today. What did you think he was?” Freddie replied.

“I was afraid he was a big mouse. I’d drifted off to sleep on the couch and woke up with him on my chest staring at me. Would it be too much to ask for a heads up when you do something like this?” Conrad asked.

“I’m sorry, pal. I didn’t think it was a big deal. Sorry he startled you.”

“To someone who wears a ferret suit 24/7, it’s not a big deal bringing home a ferret. To ordinary civilians like me, a little warning would be most helpful.”

“Gotcha. Sorry about the shirt.”

“Something tells me that won’t be the only casualty in the weeks ahead. Junior, huh? As in Freddie Junior?”

“What else?” Freddie shrugged.

“Have you got everything set up for him?” Conrad asked. “Meaning, do I have to watch where I walk?
Does he need to be taken out to go potty?”

“Ferrets use a litter box, and I’ve already got that set up in my bathroom. See, I got them to put a little trap door in my bedroom door so Junior can go in and out at night,” Freddie pointed out.

“No cage?” Conrad asked.

“I’m going to try not to resort to that. This place is small enough that I hope he can just have the run of things without a jail cell.” Freddie replied.

“He really is a little thing. How old is he?”

“About 12 weeks. He might grow to about five or six pounds, but probably no bigger. Ferrets, present company excluded, are tiny little animals.”

“He is sort of cute,” Conrad admitted. “Where did you get him?”

“Father Ferret, the original Farnsworth mascot, has a side business where he breeds them. I had asked him a while back to pick one out for me, and he called over the weekend to tell me that this one had been weaned from his mother. I waited until I could get the trap door and all the supplies before I picked him up.”

“What does he eat?”

“There’s special ferret food, but he can also eat most types of cat food. He’ll probably eat healthier than you, Conrad.”

Conrad let out a chuckle. “I think most living organisms do better than daily Galaxy Burger combos. Well, welcome to our home, Junior,” Conrad said and reached out to pet Junior.

Perhaps interpreting it as an aggressive move, Junior chomped down on Conrad’s approaching hand while still clinging securely to Freddie.

“Ow! Damn it, that hurt!” Conrad yelled.

“Hey, do you mind? No swearing in front of the child,” Freddie said.

“Fine. Tell your child I’m not a snack, OK?” Conrad snapped.

“Yeah, we’ll work on that. They tell me sometimes it takes up to a year for a ferret to become attached to someone, so be patient. I’m lucky he’s taken to me so quickly,” Freddie replied.

“He probably thinks you’re his mother. Your fur is even a similar color,” Conrad observed, noticing the similarity in the light brown fur with almost an orange tint that both Freddie and Junior displayed. “In fact,” Conrad added, “I think he has your eyes.”

“Well, I guess that makes you his uncle,” Freddie said.

“Great,” Conrad replied sarcastically. “He’s not going to howl or make any strange noises during the night, is he?”

“No, he won’t make much noise at all. He’ll probably sleep something like 16-18 hours a day, too. If there are any strange noises coming from my room, they’ll be mine.”

As he thought of being able to sleep that much for even one day, Conrad felt a moment of jealously toward his newest roommate. “So why did you get him, Freddie?” he asked.

“I guess I just wanted someone to love,” Freddie softly replied while he petted Junior.

Saturday brought the event Conrad had spent the last week dreading, his debut as analyst on the Ferret Football radio team. There was actually a part of him that was excited about doing a game broadcast for the first time. He had grown up listening to Baltimore broadcasting legend Chuck Thompson, and later Jon Miller, and the thought of dipping a toe into their line of work was somewhat titillating.

That excitement was overwhelmed by two factors. First, the Ferrets’ football team was abysmal. He didn’t want to be too hard on the kids since they were probably doing the best they could, but their best clearly was not suitable for college football at any level. Second was the minor problem that he really could not understand the play-by-play announcer, Troy Flemstone--a small college announcer with an All-American lisp.

Conrad found some solace in the fact that most if not all the listeners shared his problem with Troy and would be unable to tell if his comments were appropriate follow-ups to what Troy had just said. Therefore, he would just talk about what he saw and not worry too much about trying to be in sync with Troy. He would also hope the game was not a massacre.

Mercifully, WFUR did not carry a lengthy pre-game show like major colleges did. Kickoff was scheduled for 1:05, and the broadcast did not begin until 1:00. Promptly at 1:00, Troy opened the broadcast, “Good afternoon, Ferret fanth, and welcome to another exthiting afternoon of Ferret football.” That wasn’t too bad, Conrad thought. If he will just stay away from words with “s” in them, this might not be too painful.
“Yeth, fanth, ith a beautiful thunny afternoon here in Eath Wethgate.” “Never mind,” thought Conrad.

His hopes for a competitive game were also quickly dashed. The Holy Terrors of St. McDonald’s College tore through the Fighting Ferreth’, er Ferrets’ defense like cheap tissue paper. St. McDonald’s marched the length of the field the first four times they touched the ball and held a decisive 28-0 lead early in the second quarter. At this point, as near as Conrad could tell, Troy lost interest in the game and started telling stories. He could occasionally make out a down and distance call from Troy, but otherwise just waited for him to draw a breath before inserting some pertinent information about the game.

The station ran pre-recorded interviews at halftime, giving Conrad a few moments away from Troy where he could try to unwind. When Conrad returned to the broadcast booth just before the second half kickoff, Troy commented on Conrad’s analysis. “You’re doing jutht a thwell job, Conrad. Are you thure you’ve never done thith before?” Troy asked.

“Nope, this is my first time. I guess I picked up enough listening to the pros do this over the years that I’ve got somewhat of a clue.” Conrad responded.

“Well, if you ever dethide to leave thporth adminithrathration, you thould conthider broadcathting,” Troy added.

“Thankth,” Conrad replied.

By the time the clock had mercifully run out on the drubbing, a 48-3 loss for the Ferrets, Conrad had to restrain himself from running out of the booth. Troy seemed to be a genuinely nithe man, but that lithp made Conrad crazy! I can’t thtop lithping! HELP!

Sorry about that, folks. As I was saying, Conrad quickly bolted from the booth toward his car, eager to leave today’s carnage behind and return to Midville. More specifically, he was excited about returning to “The Chaps and Spurs Sports Bar,” hoping to run into Frankie again. It was too early to head there, however, so he returned back to his suite to watch the late afternoon football games, glad that today’s debacle had not totally killed his interest in the sport.

He entered the suite carefully, lest Freddie’s adopted son Junior dart out the open door. After turning on the television and quickly surfing the televised football games, he settled on the Florida State-Notre Dame contest. He fetched a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat down to enjoy the game. When Florida State jumped out to a 21-0 lead, he became restless and decided to do some work to help him prepare for the next week.

When he wasn’t on the job, Conrad often left his laptop computer out for occasions like this. There had never been any reason not to. Freddie was respectful of Conrad’s property, so there was no issue with it being misused. The dynamics had changed, however, a thought that occurred to Conrad when he tried to turn his computer on. Nothing happened, no noise, no light on the screen, nothing. When Conrad went to hit the enter key, just in case that would help, he felt a sticky substance on the key. Curious, he checked the rest of the keyboard and found that most of the keys on the right half were now sticky.

As he was speculating on what had happened, he saw Junior pop through the trap door from Freddie’s room. He scampered around the living area and headed toward the kitchen. Junior then climbed up a chair and secured himself on the kitchen table, the place that Conrad had left his laptop this morning. He then watched Junior proceed to tinkle on the table. It immediately became obvious to him what the sticky substance on his computer keys was, and that ferret urine had probably seeped into the unit and burned out the motherboard, making it useless.

As he raced to wash his hands, Conrad was relieved that he had backed up his data on Friday. He did wonder how he was going to explain this on a purchase requisition when he ordered a new computer.

Given the options of staying in and watching a lopsided football game, waiting for Junior’s next move, or contemplating his navel, Conrad decided to get cleaned up and head out to the sports bar early. He figured he could occupy himself shooting pool while he waited to see if Frankie showed up.

When he entered “Chaps and Spurs”, he found that Frankie had already arrived. He spotted her at one of the pool tables stuffing some money into her purse. He realized she WAS a hustler and had gone easy on him last week. This will not do, he thought. “I’ve got just enough male ego left that I will not let a woman feel she has to let me win at billiards,” he thought.

“Hey lady, can I take next?” Conrad asked as he approached. There were several men in her general vicinity, and they giggled at what Conrad had said.

“Sure, I’ll take your money,” Frankie replied. She proceeded to do just that. Frankie played free and easy, while Conrad found the harder he tried the worse he played. At five dollars a game, Conrad’s funds were quickly exhausted. He thought she threw a couple of games his way just to extend their playing time, but eventually he was playing so poorly she couldn’t even let him win.

Sensing Conrad’s frustration was close to getting the best of him, Frankie said, “I’m hungry. Winner buys dinner.” Already tapped out for the night, Conrad quickly agreed.

As they sat and ordered their first round of drinks, Frankie noticed Conrad ruefully shaking his head. “What’s bothering you, Conrad? I hope it’s not just the ass kicking I gave you over there,” Frankie said.

“No, it’s just been that kind of day. I had to sit through an awful football game doing a radio broadcast with a guy I can barely understand, then I come home and found the ferret had peed on my computer,” Conrad offered with a sigh.

“Geez, I thought he would have been house broken by now,” Frankie said.

Conrad chuckled, “No, no, not the mascot. He just got a little pet ferret who apparently needs remedial potty training.”

“Ok, that makes more sense, I guess. Sounds like a tough day,” Frankie replied.

“Yeah, and getting emasculated at the pool table was a fitting way to wrap it up,” Conrad said. “Hey, enough about me. Are things going any better for you at work?”

“Can’t say that they are,” Frankie replied.

“You told me you’re a manager, right?” Conrad asked.

“Yeah. I’ve got several assistants working for me, and a team of about seventy people overall, counting interns,” Frankie said.

“Wow, that’s a big group. I know you told me last week you’ve got some serious performance issues to deal with. What seems to be causing them?” Conrad asked.

“Have you heard the phrase ‘You can teach a pig to sing, but in the long run it wastes your time and annoys the pig’? Well, that’s what I’m up against. We just haven’t got enough talent to be very good, and it’s just getting really frustrating,” Frankie said.

“That reminds me of the debacle I watched today. Our football team is just unspeakably bad. At your job, have you ever thought about blowing it up and trying to start from scratch?” Conrad asked.

“All the time, my friend, all the time. It’s too late for that in my situation, though. Pretty soon I imagine I’ll have to get on with the rest of my life,” Frankie said.

“Take it from me, since I’ve very recently experienced that situation. You just never know where fate will lead you.” Conrad said, concluding the serious discussion for the evening.