Black fine line tattoo of a cat's face with a curled tail on the inner forearm, beside three black paw prints and one red paw print.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat outline and paw prints on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A black outline of a cat's face in profile, with a curled tail, sits on the inner forearm near the wrist, with small whiskers drawn on the face. Three black paw prints trail towards the elbow, and one of them is filled in red. The lines are smooth and even on a plain, light skin background.

Fine line Forearm Cat Paw print Tail Whiskers Cat face

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The mule train had been three days on the pass when the grey cat decided it was the one leading. Nobody had invited her. She simply went ahead of Old Brannoch's string each morning, tail curled like a question mark, whiskers furred white with frost, and stopped at every fork in the track as though she were reading a letter addressed to her.

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We followed because the snow had buried the road in places, and because she never once walked into a drift. Behind her the paw prints ran in a neat line, small and deliberate, and I learned to trust them more than the map Brannoch kept folded in his coat. On the third afternoon the cloud came down so thick I could not see the mule in front of me, and still the cat went on, her shape dimming and reappearing like a lamp in fog.

At the bend above the cairn she stopped and lifted one forepaw. It was bleeding, a bright bead on the white, where a sliver of tin from an old ration box had caught her. She looked at me as if I should do something about it, so I knelt in the slush and wrapped the paw with a strip torn from my scarf. She did not thank me. She licked the cloth once, then set off again, leaving a single red print among the black ones.

We came down out of the cloud an hour later to a stone hut with a light in its window. Brannoch was already at the door with the kettle on. The cat sat on the step and washed her face, and when I turned to look back up the slope, the prints were still there, four lines of them climbing to where we had been, and the last one was the only one in red.