Traditional style tattoo of a cat in a space helmet and suit floating beside a ringed planet, on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat astronaut with ringed planet

Traditional · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A cat wearing a blue and grey space helmet and bulky spacesuit floats past a ringed planet, with a red-striped planet partly behind its leg. The linework is bold and black, with grey shading on the suit and planet and flat areas of orange, red and blue. The design fills the frame, with the cat's raised tail and limbs extending across the skin.

Traditional Forearm Cat Astronaut Helmet Planet Space Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The suit had been a welder's before it was a cat's, and it still smelled of flux and cigarettes when Agnes Pryce wrestled the last buckle shut on Biscuit. The helmet came from a fishbowl that had once held a goldfish called Admiral. Biscuit did not care for any of it. He sat in the yard behind the chandlery with his ears flat, glaring up at the sky over the gasworks as if it had insulted him.

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The gasworks man, Dennis, had told Agnes that the planet with the rings could be seen from the roof of the Co-op on clear nights, a pale smudge like a thumbprint on a window. Biscuit had heard none of this. He had heard only the word 'float', and he had decided that floating was something a cat could manage if he kicked hard enough off the wall.

He kicked off the bins instead. The suit did what suits do, which is nothing gracefully. He drifted over the rooftops with his tail up like a question mark, past the chimney pots and a wheeling gull, until the streetlights fell away beneath him and the city was a scatter of orange grit. Ahead, the ringed planet turned slowly, its rings catching the light the way a bangle catches a shop window, and a red-striped moon hung off to one side as though it had been waiting for him.

Agnes found him at dawn on the back step, soaked from a dew-heavy hedge, helmet fogged, looking deeply pleased with himself. 'Well?' she said. He yawned, which she took as a full report. That evening she painted the rings onto the back door in a rough white curve, and every morning after, Biscuit sat beneath them and stared up at the real thing the way a sailor stares at a harbour he fully intends to leave.