Colour neo-traditional tattoo of a smiling cartoon cat with a crescent moon on its forehead and a red bow with a gold star brooch, on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon cat with crescent moon and red bow

Neo-trad · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A cartoon cat face with navy fur, pink ears, a thin antenna and a small gold crescent moon on its forehead sits above a large red bow with a gold star brooch. The bold black outlines and flat, smooth colour fills give it a cartoon feel, with soft shading on the cheeks and a scatter of small green and pink sparkle dots around the design. The tattoo fills most of the frame against a plain skin background with white fabric at the sides.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the lot of you, for the fire won't keep itself and this is a tale for the back end of a cold night. Up at Cwm Fawr there was a pit that ran so deep the men swore the coal had forgotten the sun. In the lamp room sat a cat nobody ever saw eat. Her fur was the blue of a sky before rain, and she wore a red bow the size of a Sunday hat, with a gold star pinned at its middle like a badge a child had sewn on.

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Her name was Lune, after the small gold crescent on her brow. Old Tomos the overman swore she had a wire antenna, thin as a bootlace, that stood up from her head and wobbled whenever the ground shifted. When the roof began to talk, she would twitch that wire, turn her rosy eyes to the north face, and walk very deliberately to whichever gallery was about to give. Men who followed her came home grumbling. Men who ignored her were carried home on boards.

Then came the winter the company sent up clever men from the city, with clean boots and clean opinions, who laughed at a moon on a cat's head and called it superstition under a tin hat. They put the day shift down the Number Four gallery anyway. Lune sat on the lamp room step and would not budge. The foreman kicked at her. She only blinked, slow, and the little green sparkles seemed to drift off her fur like frost lifting off a window.

The cage went down without her. By noon the men on top heard a long groan under the hill, then nothing, then the pit fan stopped dead. Lune was still on her step when the lamps finally came back up, bow straight, star catching the light, looking at the city men as if to say, well, now you listen.

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