Black fine-line geometric cat face tattoo with small dots above it on the inner forearm, with a white and ginger cat lying on a bed beside it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric cat face on a forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A hand holds the raised paw of a white and ginger cat lying on its back on a patterned bed, and a forearm in the foreground shows a tattoo. The tattoo is a cat face built from thin black geometric lines, with angular facets forming the head and eyes and a row of small dots above it. The image is in colour, but the tattoo itself is black ink on pale skin, and the composition places the tattoo on the left against the soft tones of the bedding.

Geometric Fine line Forearm Cat Cat face Geometric Dot

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat came aboard at Valparaíso with a torn ear and a ticket nobody had sold him, and by the third week out you had stopped pretending he was the cook's problem. You had charted the Pacific by dead reckoning for eleven years, and you knew a creature that wanted to be somewhere when you saw one. He sat on the chart table and watched your dividers walk across the paper as if he were counting the miles himself.

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Off the Horn the glass fell so fast the mate swore it was broken. Sleet came flat across the deck and the rigging sang. You went below to see to the sextant, which had cracked in the cold, and found the cat already there, curled over the brass case with his eyes half shut. You lifted him off. He climbed back. On the third try you noticed that the case no longer rocked when he lay on it, and that the frame held true against the roll as long as his weight was on it. You left him there and worked around him by lamplight.

When the cloud finally tore open at noon you took a clean sight and worked the figures twice, the pencil pressed hard into the margin. The fix fell where it should, sixty miles south of the cape, the sea exactly where the stars had promised it would be. You wrote the position in the log and, in the corner of the page, drew a small angular head with two sharp eyes and a row of dots above it for the stars you had lost.

Ten days later Port Stanley rose grey and rough out of the murk, and he was the first off the gangway, leaving wet prints across the quay and not once looking back.