Neo-traditional colour tattoo of a grey and ginger cat with green eyes, a red heart and pearl chain, with pink and purple flowers, on a person's calf.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat with heart and flowers on a calf

Neo-trad · Calf · Colour · Photo

A cat's face is shown front on, with green eyes, a pink nose and whiskers, wearing a pearl chain across its head with a red heart at the centre of the brow. Purple and pink flowers with green leaves frame the cat's head and sit beneath its paws, with a second pearl strand below. Bold black outlines sit over shaded grey, ginger and orange fur in full colour, against the skin of a lower leg.

Neo-trad Calf Cat Heart Pearl Flower Leaves

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Brother Anselm had been cellarer for eleven years before the cat came, and in the four months since she arrived he had not once managed to lock the almonry door behind him. Bramble, as the novices called her, went through the gap beneath it like smoke. She was grey where the wool was thick and the colour of marmalade at her ears, and she had taken to sleeping on the ledger of benefactions, the only thing in the house that Anselm truly guarded.

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The pearls arrived with Mrs Ottoline Vane, a widow from Halifax who gave the abbey a chain of seed pearls in memory of her husband and asked only that they be kept in the Lady Chapel. Somewhere between the chapel and the almonry the chain had come off its hook. Bramble wore it across her brow the way a bishop wears a mitre, a red glass heart from a broken reliquary swinging at its centre, and no amount of prayer or unpicked clasp would persuade her to give it up.

Prior Clement wanted the cat removed. Anselm argued that a cat who had kept the mice out of the flour for four months had earned a seat at the table, and that the widow, who had written twice to ask after the chain, would not mind a little wear. They settled on a compromise: the pearls would go back to the chapel on Sunday, and Bramble would be allowed to keep the heart.

On Sunday morning the chain was back on its hook. Bramble was asleep on the ledger, and beside her, neatly folded, lay a single sprig of pink campion that nobody in the house could account for. Anselm never found out who had left it there, and he never again tried to lock the door.