Colour tattoo of a cat-shaped sugar skull with a pink bow and floral details on the top of a foot.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat-style sugar skull with bow on a foot

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A colour tattoo of a sugar skull shaped like a cat's head, with a pink bow on one side and a flower-like motif on the bow's centre. Two orange and blue flowers sit on the cheeks, with teal and green vines and a teal-outlined nose and mouth, all within bold black outlines. The design is shown on the top of a foot, with toes visible at the bottom of the frame against a dark background.

Traditional Other Sugar skull Cat Bow Flower Skull Vine

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, sit down, you're letting the cold in. Not that stool, the one with the good leg. There. Now listen, because I'll not tell it twice and the lamps are going out along the canal. Every night for a month a cat came to the back step of the bakery on Fenwick Row, and every night it carried something in its mouth. A bottle cork. A brass button. Once a child's glove, still warm from somebody's pocket. Its face was the strangest thing on that street, painted like the sugar skulls the grandmothers make for the November feast, all cheek-flowers and curling vines, with a pink bow sitting on its crown as if it had been posted there by mistake.

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The bow was the trouble. It belonged to Ines Barrow, who took in mending on the first floor opposite, and it had hung on her washing line since her daughter's christening. Ines went up to the roof with a broom and a sharp word, and the cat simply sat on the parapet watching her with its painted eyes, until she came down again and forgot what she had climbed up for. Old Mrs Ocampo, who sold paper marigolds from the doorway beside the bakery, said the cat was settling a debt. Nobody believed her. Nobody argued either, because on the nights the cat came, the ovens seemed to burn hotter and the morning loaves rose perfect.

Then, on the last night of October, the bow turned up on the bakery step, folded neatly, with a paper marigold tucked beneath it. Ines found it at dawn and wept, though she would never say why, and she hung the bow back on her line where the wind could reach it. The cat was not seen on Fenwick Row again.

But if you walk past that bakery after dark, look at the step. Some nights you will find a single marigold lying there, bright as a lamp, and beside it a small pink bow, waiting for someone with the sense to ask for it back. Now, your collar is turned up wrong. Let me fix that before you go.