Black and grey tattoo of a tabby cat curled into a U shape, shaded with fine stripes, on the outside of an ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Curled tabby cat on an ankle

Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A tabby cat is curled nose to tail in a U shape, with its head turned to the left and its tail hanging down at the right. The cat is drawn in black ink with fine linework and stippled shading that gives its striped coat texture. The design sits alone on pale skin against a plain background, with a dark sock and a black chair edge visible at the bottom.

Ankle Cat Tabby cat Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You reach the third landing with the oil can knocking against your hip, and Tallow is already there, asleep on the warm iron of the stair rail as if he had been poured into place. He has folded himself nose to tail into a horseshoe of grey and dark stripes, his head turned to one side, the tip of his tail dangling over the drop like a bell rope nobody has rung in years.

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The glass needs cleaning before the evening watch, and the cloth is under him. You say his name. He opens one eye, considers the matter, and shuts it again. Outside the wind has started to lean on the tower, and the sea below has gone the colour of wet slate. The logbook on the table has three entries in your predecessor's careful hand: fog, fog, and then a single line that reads Tallow has the good spot. You laughed at that the first time you read it. You do not laugh now, because the cloth is under a cat and the sky is turning.

By nine the storm has found the lamp. The beam stutters, then dies, and you are running up the spiral with a spare mantle clutched to your chest, but when you reach the gallery there is no need to hunt. Tallow has come down from the rail and gone ahead of you, tail held high, not hurrying, stopping at each step to make sure you are still following. He leads you past the sealed door to the cupboard under the stairs, where the spare mantle sits wrapped in flannel, and he settles beside it looking entirely pleased with himself.

By dawn the lamp is burning and the trawler is safe in the harbour. You climb back up and find him on the warm lantern housing, curled into his horseshoe once more, tail hanging down the glass as if he had only ever been holding the light in place.