Black and grey botanical tattoo of a sitting cat inside a crescent of flowers and leaves, placed on the neck behind the ear.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat in a floral crescent behind the ear

Fine line · Neck · Black and grey · Photo

A small silhouette of a seated cat sits inside a curved wreath of blossoms and leafy sprigs. The linework is fine and the flowers are shaded with soft stippling, while the cat is solid black. The photograph is a close, black and white view of the neck behind the ear, with a heart-shaped stud earring visible.

Fine line Botanical Neck Cat Flower Leaves Wreath Crescent Blossom

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow came down the Sallow Pass sideways, and you were three hours behind the mule train when the grey cat stepped out from under the keeper's eaves and sat itself down in front of your boots, as if it had been expecting the post since autumn. Nobody at Caddish had said the hut kept a cat. Nobody had said much of anything about the hut since the old keeper, Hettie Marr, went down the mountain in a box in March.

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You had her letter inside your coat, tied with blue thread and addressed to a son in the lowland town of Corrow. The cat would not let you pass. It only turned its head and looked up past the roof, where the cloud had torn open over a thin white crescent of moon. Round that moon, on the hut door you had admired all summer, Hettie had painted a wreath of blossom and thyme. Here it was again, the same curve, the same sprigs, drawn on the sky by the snow's edge.

You lifted the lantern and saw the ground past the cat's paws had gone. The shelf of the path had slid into the gully in the thaw, and the next step was air. You stood very still while the cat walked on ahead, picking its way along the bank you could not see, then stopped and sat again, waiting for you to notice.

By morning the storm had blown itself out. You climbed back to the hut and found the cat asleep on the sill, its tail wrapped round its feet. You left the letter on the table where Hettie used to sit, and when you went down the valley you did not look back at the door, because you already knew the cat would be there, keeping its watch over the edge.