Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a white cartoon cat with a pink bow inside a gold ornate frame, with script lettering below, on a thigh.

Cartoon cat in ornate frame on thigh

Neo-trad · Thigh · Colour · Photo

A white cartoon cat with a pink bow on its head and a large pink bow at its neck sits inside an ornate gold picture frame on a thigh. The cat is drawn with smooth shading and clean outlines, set against a soft lilac background, and the frame has scrolled, shaded detailing. Black script lettering with grey shadowing runs below the frame, and the image is a close, angled view of the skin.

Neo-trad Lettering Thigh Cat Cartoon cat Bow Script lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ferry was late again, so the cat had already claimed the lobby by the time I got the key to the office. She sat in the gilt frame above the reception desk as though someone had hung her there on purpose, a pink bow at her throat and a second one tied to the top of her head like she'd come straight from a wedding. Mrs Tennant, who has run the Strand Hotel on Skerrin since before I was born, said the frame had washed up off a wreck in 1952 and nobody had ever come to claim it.

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I asked where the cat had come from. The fishermen said she'd stepped off the morning boat in a wicker basket labelled for the vicar. Mrs Tennant only shrugged and said the animal had the good sense to pick the best seat on the island and the manners to keep it. When I tried to lift her down, she turned her head away from me with great dignity and went on looking at the guests coming in from the rain. 'She's a lady,' Mrs Tennant said, not even looking up from the ledger. 'That's why.'

For three weeks the cat ruled the lobby. She ate kippers off the good china, sent the Ferris boy running for the stepladder, and slept on the register so no one could sign in without a fight. When the storm took the mainland line down, the only thing the guests could agree on was that she belonged to nobody and everybody at once.

On the first calm morning she was gone, and the frame hung empty over the desk, its gold scrolls catching the light. Mrs Tennant polished the glass twice that day without a word. Then the back door creaked, and there was a small white shape sitting on the step of the laundry, bow askew, waiting for breakfast as if she'd only stepped out to see the weather.