Geometric big cat face tattoo in orange, red and black with grey-green shading on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric big cat face on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A large cat's face is built from angular, faceted panels in orange, red, black and peach, with a pale muzzle marked by dark dots. The lower section fades into grey-green panels with fine vertical hatching, giving a sharp, three-dimensional feel. The design is centred on a plain skin background, with a dark area to the left and a window frame to the right.

Geometric Forearm Big cat Face Animal Geometric shape

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat on the bow of the Ottilie had been painted over twice since the flood, and each time Dora Vane swore it would be the last. Angular panels of ochre and rust, a black stripe sweeping back over the brow like a sail's shadow, and a grey-green keel of fine upright hatching that always looked wet. Nobody on the Trent knew who had first drawn it. Her father said a signwriter in Gainsborough had done it for a bet and lost the wager by refusing to be paid.

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Eli Sorrell, the lock keeper at Cromwell, came down the towpath that morning with a tin of paint, a ladder and a sable brush no bigger than a matchstick. "You're not touching the eyes," Dora told him. "Those two blue panes are the only things on this barge that ever looked at me straight." He nodded without turning round and began on the peach muzzle, dotting the whiskers one at a time while a heron stood in the shallows pretending not to watch.

By the afternoon the river had gone brown and fast with rain upstream, and Dora was up on the foredeck scraping the old varnish from the top of the head. Under the bunk she had found a sheet of brown paper rolled tight with rubber bands. Her father had drawn the cat first as a stack of triangles, then labelled each panel in his careful capitals: RUST, SAFFRON, NIGHT, BONE. Along the bottom edge, in pencil gone silver, he had written: keep her off the lock gates when the water runs high.

At dusk the paint was dry enough to touch. Dora climbed to the bow and looked back at the cat looking back at her, every facet catching the last light off the water. Eli coiled his ladder and said the lock would be quiet until Monday. She left the grey-green keel just as it was, wet-looking and hatched, and went below to find the kettle.