Small bold-outlined cartoon cat with a red bow on the forearm, beside a large traditional flower with an eye on the back of a tattooed hand.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon cat with red bow on forearm

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A bold black-outlined cartoon cat with whisker marks, a red bow and two dots for features sits on the forearm, filled mostly with white skin tone and touches of red and yellow. Behind it, the back of a hand shows a large traditional-style flower with a central eye, in red, pink, green and yellow, extending onto the wrist and up the arm. The composition is close and angled, with a tattooed woman's face partly visible at the top left.

Traditional Forearm Hand Cat Cartoon character Bow Flower Eye

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marguerite had been driving the salt run for six hours when the cat stepped out from under the passenger seat and sat on the dashboard as if it had bought a ticket. It was white, round as a teacup, with a red bow pinned to one ear and whisker scratches down either side of its face. Two dots served for eyes, or possibly a nose and mouth; she could never settle which. The road ahead was a grey ribbon between saltbush and nothing, and the heat lifted off it in sheets.

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"You're not on the manifest," she told it. The cat regarded the windscreen with the patience of someone who had already read the manifest and found it wanting. At the Cinder Wells layby she pulled over, dug out the tin of tuna she kept for emergencies, and waited. The cat jumped down, sniffed the tin, then turned towards a boulder where a single rust-red bloom had split from a cactus, as though pointing.

She followed on foot, the tuna forgotten in her hand. The flower had red petals ringed with yellow and a dark seed-heart at its centre that looked, in that light, like an open eye watching her climb. The cat sat in its shade and washed one paw with great deliberation. Behind her the lorry ticked as it cooled, and she realised she had left the engine running on a promise she could not account for.

She drove the rest of the run with the window down. At the depot the foreman counted eleven crates and asked about the twelfth. Marguerite said nothing. That night she sent her sister a photo of a red flower, and beneath it wrote that the road had a sense of humour and a fondness for cats with good manners.