The winter of ‘87 was the year that Billy and Steve moved into a nice apartment an hour or two outside of Hawkins, paid for with daddy’s money, of course. Sure, his father didn’t know Billy would be living with him, or that they had been in a serious relationship for two months that coming spring, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
It also just so happened to be the year that Mews II gave birth to a rather large litter of the cutest Siamese kittens Steve had ever seen, be it the only Siamese kittens he’d ever seen but still.
He begged and begged Billy to be able to have one, to be able to fill the empty space of their new, modern apartment with the sound of things falling off the counter and unapologetic trills. To be able to hear the sound of paws hitting the floor and claws scratching their hardwood when the midnight zoomies hit.
And it took a while before he finally gave in. Weeks of Billy asking him who would look after it when they went to work. Of him complaining that it would scratch up all their furniture. Until he finally agreed on the account that Steve had to clean out the little box. Which seemed like such a small price or pay for one of the cutest kittens known to man.
He got the runt, the smallest of the litter not really knowing why. There was just something about the way she climbed up his pant leg and clawed at his stomach for pets that really called to him.
So, that was that, they had a cat.
She went nameless for a while, neither of them being able to settle on a proper name, or just when they do one of them deciding it’s not right.
It isn’t until she’s been with them for a week and a half was it that Billy finally came up with the perfect name.
’Tiny Spoon’
It went right over Steve’s head, honestly. He couldn’t understand what the meaning was until Billy explained it to him.
”Y’know how she does that weird thing where she sleeps up again whoever’s little spoon?”
And that’s all Steve needed to get it.
He agreed it was perfect. Their runt. Their trouble maker. Their tiny spoon.
