Black and grey dotwork tattoo of a curled, sleeping cat with a scaled fish tail inside a circle, on the forearm.

Curled cat with fish tail on forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A cat curls up with its eyes closed, its body wrapped around a pale circular space, and its tail ends in a scaled fish-like fin. The scales and the cat's face and fur are built from fine stippled dots, while the outlines are solid black lines. The design is entirely black and grey and sits centred on a pale forearm against a dark background.

Dotwork Blackwork Forearm Cat Sleeping cat Fish tail Fish scale Fin Circle Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Maren, the harbour master has finally given up on the cat. Last night she climbed into the lamp room again and curled herself around the moon's reflection in the old cistern, tail hanging into the water like a sleeve. Pilot Osgood swears her tail is scaled now, that the salt has been at her fur since the spring storms. I told him a cat who sleeps by the sea will grow fins eventually, the same as any sensible creature.

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The kingdom of Vellmere has no use for sleeping things. The queen counts her ships and her debts and has no patience for cats who do nothing. But the fishermen leave her herring on the quay each dawn, and nobody remembers agreeing to that. I have begun leaving bread for her myself, and I have noticed that when the tide turns she does not wake until it has finished turning.

Yesterday the queen's clerk came down to the quay with a lantern and a list. He wanted the cat for the menagerie. He lifted her by the scruff and she did not open her eyes, only let her tail uncoil slowly over his wrist, the scales catching the light, and the cistern moon went out like a candle. Then the clerk went very quiet, set her back down on the stones, and walked away without writing a word.

I am going down there tonight with a blanket and no lantern. If the moon comes back up in the water, I shall curl up beside her and see what the tide has to say about it. Do not tell Mother. Write when the boats are back, and tell me whether the ferryman still counts his fingers after dark. Your loving sister, Ilse.