Dotwork and line drawing of a cat with a third eye, a flower and a mandala behind its head, with faint red wash on the left.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat with third eye and mandala design

Dotwork · Mixed · Flash

A pen and ink drawing of a cat's face with a third eye set in a star outline on its forehead, with a large flower and a circular mandala rising behind the head. The shading is built from fine stippled dots and hatched lines, with a faint red wash along the left side. The design fills the frame edge to edge, with the cat's eyes and whiskers at the lower half.

Dotwork Geometric Botanical Cat Third eye Mandala Flower Star Eye Whiskers

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The school hall still smells of floor polish and wet coats, and the name badges are the same sticky sort that give up after an hour. You find Joanne Pryce by the trestle table, pouring squash for a man you half remember from chess club, and she hands you a plastic cup without looking up. "You'll not believe what Mrs Ashdown left us," she says. "Her cat. Still going."

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Nobody believes it's the same cat, of course, but Joanne has a photograph on her phone: a grey and white queen blinking from the top of the piano, an extra eye pressed into her forehead like a star drawn in biro. Joanne swears the eye only opens when someone is lying. The chess club man declares he has never told a lie in his life, and on her little screen the eye stays shut. Then Dean Mercer, now bald and loud, tells everyone his divorce was amicable, and the picture flickers, and the third eye is open, wide as a coin.

Everyone laughs and the room gets louder, and you realise you have been waiting all evening for someone to mention the Latin prize. It was yours, not Hannah Doyle's, and the trophy is still in your dad's garage under a tarpaulin. You say nothing. Across the hall the piano lid is empty, but the cat is there after all, sitting beneath the bunting on the stage with a faint ring of pale light around her brow, watching you the way Mrs Ashdown used to over her spectacles.

Joanne takes your elbow, her thumb cold through your sleeve. "Your turn," she says kindly, and somewhere behind your own eyes something very old begins to blink.