Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a cat in a space helmet with a jetpack and stars, on a calf.

Astronaut cat with jetpack on a calf

Dotwork · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

A cat wearing a space helmet and chest panel stands upright with a jetpack, its tail raised to one side. The helmet's visor shows stars and a small ringed planet, and the jetpack flames are drawn as dashed lines. Bold outlines define the figure, while stippled dots shade the body and create texture, all in black ink on pale skin.

Dotwork Traditional Calf Cat Astronaut Star Planet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

By the fortieth day out of Sunderland the ship's cat had decided the *Harriet Lowe* was far too small for him, and he let the whole watch know it by sitting on the capstan at the change of shift with his tail curled up like a question mark. Cook called him Admiral. Nobody argued, because he ate better than the crew and rarely bit anyone who wasn't stupid enough to reach for him.

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I had the middle watch with him most nights. I'd tell him what the second mate told me about the ringed planet he kept in the almanac, a pale thing with a belt round its middle, and the cat would stare at the stars over the foremast as if he'd been promised a ticket. So one night, with a biscuit tin lid for a helmet, a pair of empty paraffin drums lashed to his back with boot laces and a square of tin for a chest panel, we got him kitted out. The cook called us lunatics and then fed him three sardines to keep him still for the fitting.

He took to it straight away. He stood on the hatch cover in the wet, tail up, and watched the swell lift the bow like it was the only thing in the world worth watching. I thought the drums were for show. Then a gust came round the bow, the lashing creaked, and he looked back at me over his shoulder with the expression of a cat who has worked out the mechanics of a plan.

We reached Valparaíso eleven days later. The cook asked me to take the helmet off him before the port doctor came aboard. I didn't. Admiral came down the gangway every morning after that, still wearing the tin, smelling of salt and paraffin, and I never did find out what he'd seen from the rail.