Sketchy fine line tattoo of a crescent moon with a sitting cat, a yellow star and small coloured dots, shown on skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Crescent moon with cat and star

Fine line · Mixed · Photo

A crescent moon wrapped in loose, wispy linework forms the main subject, with a small black cat sitting on its lower curve. A yellow star and a few small teal and red dots sit in the open space inside the moon. The shading is grey and black with soft tonal areas, and the colour is limited to the star and dots, giving an airy composition.

Fine line Moon Crescent moon Cat Star Swirl Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The oven timer clicks off at ten to five and you are already reaching for the peel, because the cat from the flat above has started scratching at the back door again. Biscuit is a black thing with opinions, and he sits on the yard step each morning as though he has a shift to keep too. You let him in for the warmth, and he claims the bottom shelf of the proving cupboard as if it was always his.

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The moon is still hanging over the bins, a thin paring of it caught above the chimney stacks on Wellfield Road. Somebody once told you crescents belong to croissants, so you shape the dough by hand, rolling each triangle from the wide end to the point and curling it the way your nan taught you, until the tray holds a row of small pale moons waiting for the heat. Flour dusts your forearms and settles in the creases of your wrists.

Just before six the star over the car park winks out, or you decide it has, and the sky thins to the colour of skimmed milk. Biscuit slinks from the cupboard, stretches, and climbs onto the window ledge where the first loaves cool. You slide the tray out. The croissants are gold and blistered and split at their seams, and you set one on the ledge beside him.

He sniffs it once, then settles onto the curve of the crust as though it were the only moon he needed. You lean on the counter, tired and oddly content, and watch the dark pull back over the rooftops. By eight the shelves will be bare, but for now the last of the dough is yours to fold, and the cat is keeping watch.