Colour tattoo of a cute cartoon fox with a bushy tail on the upper back near the shoulder blade, with the person's face not shown.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon fox on upper back

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A small cartoon fox with pointed ears, closed eyes and a tiny smile sits curled in a sideways pose, with its bushy tail wrapped toward the right. The fox has a dark outline and soft shading in orange, yellow and cream, with darker brown on the paws and tail tips. It sits on pale skin near the shoulder blade, with the rest of the back and red hair visible around it.

Back Fox Cartoon Animal Tail Ear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody aboard the Mary Ellen Greaves believed in the fox until the morning the cook found his cheese gone. Old Haddow swore on his mother's grave the wheel of Parmesan had been whole at midnight. Scraps of rind lay on the bench like a tide line, and a single cream hair stuck to the hook where the sausages hung. Three days out of Hull, with the fog pressed white against the portholes, the men went looking for something with teeth.

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They never found the fox. What they found was the galley cat's tin of herring, emptied, and the cabin boy asleep on a coil of rope with orange fur caught on his collar. The boy swore he'd only been resting his eyes, which Haddow said was a thing no fox would ever do. A fox does nothing but watch and wait, I'll tell you. That rascal was up in the rigging the whole time, grinning down at us with his eyes shut tight, like a man who has already eaten your supper and is too full to bother hiding it.

So we set a trap, two nights running, a biscuit tin with a bent nail through the lid. On the third night the lid stayed shut, and in the morning the nail was out and a curl of tail was pressed into the flour sack, bright as a lantern. Haddow laughed till he coughed. Fair play to the fox, he said. He'd earned his tea.

Mind you, the next morning the cheese was back on the bench, whole, with a scrap of paper weighted under it in the boy's careful hand. It said only that the fog had been good company. We never did learn who wrote it, and Haddow never asked. Pass me that ladle, and keep your hands off the biscuits.