Chapter Text
Eddie Munson knew two things within the first five minutes of stepping into Steve Harrington’s house.
One: six cats lived here, and they ran the place.
Two: whoever Steve Harrington was, he was absolutely out of his fucking mind.
Robin Buckley didn’t give him time to process any of this.
“Okay…so, shoes off, obviously, no bags on the counter ever, no essential oils, no candles, no open windows unless screens are locked, trash stays under the sink with the child lock, meds go in the top cabinet, bathroom door stays closed because Gizmo will fight the shower curtain again.”
“He won last time,” Robin added solemnly, already halfway down the hall. “Kitchen first. This is important.”
The kitchen was… nice. Not shiny magazine nice, but used. Clean counters, mismatched mugs, a whiteboard on the fridge listed names Eddie hadn’t been introduced to yet, each followed by symbols, arrows, and aggressive underlining.
Before he could ask, something orange vaulted from the top of the cabinets and landed on the counter with a thump.
“That’s Gizmo,” Robin said. “No sunlight, no water and no food after midnight of course.” Robin snorts at her own joke. “Just kidding, but let's not test it either way, he's more gremlin than cat.”
A second cat, this time a little tuxedo trotted up to them.
“Oh! this is Pickles, she’s my baby,” Robin cooed, immediately scooping the cat up and cradling her to her chest, “I found her when she was super little…like a pickle.”
Pickles melted into her arms, purring within seconds.
“She was alone, scared, and immediately decided I was her person,” Robin continued, “followed me everywhere, slept on my chest, cried if I left the room. Total emotional dependency.”
Eddie watched Pickles tuck her face under Robin’s chin. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Sadly she can't live with me,” Robin added, softer now. “My girl… uhm my roommate’s allergic. Like, hospital-level allergic. So Steve took her in, but that’s still my baby.”
She flicked a quick, almost guarded glance at Eddie, eyes wide for just a moment, before smiling bright.
“Anyway… Moving on!”
She shoved a door open with her shoulder, pickles still cuddled up in her arms, and ushered him into the living room.
The couch in the middle of the room was draped in mismatched blankets that looked curated but deeply loved while cat toys were scattered across the floor in front of a shelf filled with records and a stack of books. Various scratching posts and cat trees crowded the corners, it was more of a cat playground than a living room in Eddie's opinion.
“Okay, so,” Robin said, finally stopping long enough to inhale, “Steve’s not here…obviously. He left this morning for a work thing with his dad. He’ll be back late every night, gone again early. You probably won’t see him much. I’m at college, kids are at school. You’ll mostly be alone with the cats.”
Like a lightbulb going off In her head she reaches for something in her bag, leaving pickles to roam freely again.
“Oh! almost forgot, read this! It's very important and will save your life.Trust me.”
Eddie looked down. She handed him a booklet.
Not just a piece of paper with the most important information, no.
A fully laminated, color-coded booklet.
On the front, in neat handwriting:
STEVE'S HOUSE CAT MANUAL
Version 6.0 (Updated for Nugget)
There were lists.
There were doodles.
There was a color-coded digestion chart.
Oh my god, Eddie thought. He’s a control freak.
Robin clapped once. “Great! Good luck!”
The door slammed shut behind her.
Eddie stood there.
Six cats stared back.
This isn’t how he imagined his week to go.
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
Eddie had been on his way home from another semi-successful gig… which means they didn’t get booed this time, the sound system only cut out once, and he walked away with just enough cash to justify the effort, when he saw it.
A bright yellow flyer, taped neatly to the community board outside the coffee shop.
It almost blended in with the chaos of lost-cat posters, band ads, and passive-aggressive notes about stolen bikes. Eddie would’ve walked right past it if the silly doodle of a cat wouldn't have caught his attention.
He skimmed over it.
CAT SITTER NEEDED
SIX CATS
TEMPORARY FULL TIME JOB
GOOD PAY
“…Six,” Eddie said out loud. “That’s… a lot of cats.”
Then he saw the payment scrawled at the bottom.
His stomach dropped.
That wasn’t gas money-pay. That was groceries and maybe helping Wayne with rent-pay. That was I don’t feel like a complete freeloader in my uncle’s house-pay.
He thought about the envelope of crumpled bills in his pocket. Thought about the way Wayne always said, “Don’t worry about it, son”, and how Eddie always did anyway.
The flyer peeled off easily.
Like it wanted him to take it.
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
The phone call was easy.
Suspiciously so.
“Hello?” a voice answered, bright and curious.
“Uh… hi,” Eddie said, pacing across his room. “I’m calling about the cat-sitting job?”
“Oh! Yes, hi! Thank you for calling,” the voice said immediately. “I’m Robin.”
Something about her tone put him at ease. Friendly. A little chaotic. Like someone who talked with their hands even over the phone.
“Cool, cool,” Eddie said. “I’m Eddie.”
“Nice to meet you, Eddie! Okay, so…six cats. Just want to make sure you saw that part.”
“I did,” he said quickly. “Yep. Six. Big fan of… multiple cats.”
Robin laughed. “Good start. So what’s your experience?”
There it was.
Eddie leaned back against the wall, his gaze drifting to the small window that looked out over the trailer park. He thought about the occasional stray cat he’d fed leftover chicken. The orange one that only showed up at night. The black one that hissed but never actually scratched. And, briefly, the raccoon that raided their trash like clockwork.
Technically a cat, Eddie decided.
“Well,” he said carefully, “I’ve been around cats most of my life.”
“Like… pets?”
“Like… cats,” Eddie said, which felt technically correct.
“Okay,” Robin said slowly, clearly amused. “Any issues with feeding schedules, litter boxes, hairballs?”
“Nope, all fine!” Eddie replied immediately, without pausing to consider that he had absolutely no idea what any of that actually entailed.
Robin hummed in thought. Then she asked about his availability, his schedule, if he is even comfortable being alone in someone else’s house, all eagerly agreed on by Eddie without any complaints.
“Perfect,” she said brightly. “See you then!”
The call ended.
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
And now
Now he was here.
“This is fine,” Eddie muttered. “I’m fine. It’s just… cats. Cats are fine, what’s the worst that could happen?” He tossed his jacket on the coat rack.
The answer came a few minutes later with a loud crash from the kitchen which resulted in spooking the other cats, zigzagging across the floor, one zipped under the coach and one ran towards the noise meowing at top volume.
Eddie spun on his heel just in time to see Gizmo streak out of the kitchen like a possessed blur, skid across the hardwood, ricochet off the coffee table, and vanish up the curtains.
“Oh no,” Eddie said faintly. “Nope. Don’t like that.”
Gizmo balanced along the curtain rod, tail swaying lazily, peering down at him with bright, unhinged eyes.
“…That’s not a place for a cat,” Eddie said carefully.
The curtain rod creaked.
“Okay,” Eddie said, voice very calm for a man who could see his life flashing before his eyes. “Okay. We’re not panicking. No one is panicking.”
Gizmo took one step forward.
The rod shifted.
Eddie lunged up fast, “NOPE! STOP! DO NOT…”
Gizmo hissed and swatted at him.
Eddie backed up a bit.
Then he remembers this damn manual Robin gave him, slowly and without losing eye contact with Gizmo he retrieved it out of his backpack and flipped frantically through it.
“Okay.. okay, where are you…Gizmo…Gizmo…ah HERE.”
GIZMO (READ CAREFULLY)
DO NOT YELL. DO NOT CHASE. DO NOT MAKE SUDDEN MOVEMENTS.
“…I've already failed,” Eddie muttered and skipped to the bottom of the page,
IF GIZMO IS ABOVE EYE LEVEL:
- Locate step ladder (hall closet).
- Acquire high-value treats. (see page 10)
- Reduce stimulation (lower voice, turn off music).
- Towel ready.
- Snap fingers twice.
- Offer treat at his level.
- Wait.
“…Snap fingers,” Eddie whispered, reading.
He snapped.
Nothing.
He snapped again.
Gizmo’s ears twitched.
“Oh,” Eddie breathed. “Okay. Progress.”
He moved slowly, every motion deliberate, like he was defusing a bomb. He retrieved the step ladder, set it carefully. He grabbed the treats, the good ones, according to the manual, and held one up, arm steady despite the fact that his hands were shaking.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice soft. “Hey, you. You’re okay.”
Gizmo’s pupils dilated.
He crept forward.
Eddie held his breath.
“Okay, okay, okay…treats,” he whispered, waving it in front of the cat. “Look. Treat.”
Gizmo took one more careful step toward him, the curtain fabric slid a little under his paws.
Eddie raised the towel with his free hand, heart pounding
“Just… just come here. That’s it. You’re doing great. You’re so athletic. So…”
Then Gizmo jumped.
Eddie barely had time to react.
He wrapped the towel around him midair, stumbled backward, and somehow managed to stay upright as he wriggled in his arms.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” he hissed, clutching him to his chest.
Gizmo hissed back, more offended than angry, then froze when Eddie didn’t drop him.
They stayed like that for a second.
Then two.
Then Gizmo slowly, begrudgingly accepted the treat he offered.
Eddie sagged in relief.
“I did it,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I actually did it.”
He carried him down, set him gently on the floor, and released the towel.
Gizmo bolted away, then turned around, chirped once, and, shockingly, did not go back to the curtains.
Eddie slid down the wall, legs giving out, and stared at the ceiling.
He picked up the manual, hugged it to his chest, and laughed weakly, “Steve…” he thought aloud, “you absolute control freak… this is actually genius.”
From the hallway, Gizmo’s tail disappeared around the corner.
Eddie tightened his grip on the manual.
“…I know you’re not done,” he told him.
Eddie glanced down at himself then, and immediately regretted every life choice that had led him here.
Black jeans.
Black shirt.
Black jacket.
Or what was left of it.
Every cat had apparently made it their personal mission to contribute. White fur clung to his sleeves. Brown threaded through his knees. Something orange lingered at his hip like a threat.
Eddie pinched the fabric between two fingers. It did nothing.
“…Cool,” he muttered. “Love this for me.”
Steve must have a lint roller somewhere.
Eddie checked the counter. The hallway shelf. Under the sink. He even opened the fridge, immediately closed it again, and pretended that hadn’t happened.
Nothing.
Eddie exhaled slowly, staring down at his fur-coated appearance.
He gave up, brushing halfheartedly at his sleeve and accepting defeat with what dignity he had left.
ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ
Steve got home late.
Later than usual, actually.
The house was quiet, too quiet, and Steve’s stomach tightened automatically as he moved through the rooms, checking on each cat rigorously, then he checked the rest
Used food bowls were washed and dried next to the sink, Litter boxes scooped. The house looked clean.
He exhaled once, trying to relax, then collapsed onto the sofa and dialed Robin’s number. While waiting for her to pick up, his fingers brushed against something between the cushions. He pulled it out and held it up to the light.
A long, curly dark strand of hair.
Steve frowned.
“Hello?” Robin’s voice came through the phone.
“He’s shedding, Robin,” Steve said, holding up the hair like evidence.
“Who?” Robin asked, amusement in her voice.
“The new cat sitter. Eddie.”
“Great,” Robin teased. “So he fits right in with your furry roommates.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint twitch of a smile.
“…So, how did he do?” Robin asked eventually.
Steve hesitated. “…Acceptable,” he mumbled. “All cats are still alive, so that’s… great.”
“I told you,” Robin said warmly, “he’s the right person!”
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I can’t just… What if Eddie isn’t… precise enough? What if…”
Steve froze, eyes narrowing. “…Wait. You gave him the manual, right? He’s not just winging it?”
Robin laughed, a little amused. “Yes, Steve. I gave him the manual. He knows what to do.”
“You could just write him a note,” Robin added, voice patient but firm. “Tell him what you need. Updates. Observations. Anything to help you relax.”
Steve blinked. “A note?”
“Yes, Steve. A Post-it. Not a novel. Just a little reassurance for yourself.*
He exhaled slowly, as if convincing himself. “…Alright. A note. Short. Precise.” He reached for a pad of Post-its on the counter, pen hovering. “What do I even… say?”
Robin hummed, “Start with thanks. Tell him everything looks good. Ask for updates. Keep it simple. Don’t overthink it.”
Steve tapped the pen against his chin. “…Okay. Fine. Simple. Clear. Useful.”
He wrote carefully, deliberately:
Hi Eddie,
Thanks for taking care of my cats.
Everything looks good.
If possible, could you leave short updates?
Appreciate it.
-Steve
He stared at the Post-it, then stuck it to the fridge, perfectly straight.
Robin’s voice came through the phone again, light and teasing. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Steve leaned back against the sofa, eyes flicking to the cats sprawled around the room.
He has to get used to this.