Neo-traditional tattoo of a black cat silhouette filled with red and pink roses and olive leaves, shown in a two-panel view on the torso.

Rose-filled cat silhouette tattoo

Neo-trad · Other · Colour · Photo

A black cat silhouette sitting in profile is filled with red and pink roses, rosebuds and olive-green leaves, with the roses packed in a repeating arrangement. The left panel is a close-up of the same floral pattern, and the right panel shows the full cat on bare skin. Bold black outlines define the petals and leaves, and the flat colour fills are bright red, pink and olive over solid black.

Neo-trad Botanical Other Cat Rose Rosebud Leaf Flower

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat came down the lane on the first morning of the rose fair, and nobody in Hollin Cross could say who had let her out, because the Pascoe sisters had locked every gate the night before and the Wrenfield shutters had been nailed shut since the flood. She sat in the middle of the square with her tail wrapped round her feet, black as a coal scuttle, and the stallholders stopped unloading to look at her. Old Dora Penhale swore she had seen the same cat sit on the harbour wall in 1931, licking a paw while the lifeboat went out in a gale.

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The trouble was the roses. Every bloom in the Cross had opened overnight, red ones on the chapel railings and pink ones spilling over the fish market, and the rosebuds on the cat's own shoulders were splitting open as people watched. Nobody had planted them. Tobias Wrenfield tried to pull one from the cat's flank to prove it was paint, and came away with a thorn in his thumb and a leaf stuck to his sleeve, the green gone the colour of old brass.

Dora made the sensible suggestion. You do not take a gift that walks in on its own, she said, you give it a reason to walk out again. So they fetched a saucer of cream from the Pascoe dairy and a length of blue ribbon from the draper, and set them down together. The cat looked at the cream, then at the ribbon, then turned her head away towards the sea. Her whiskers were roses too, pale and thin. In the stillness the whole square smelled of crushed petals and salt, and the cat rose, stretched, and walked down to the harbour wall, leaving a trail of fallen petals that the tide carried out past the breakwater by the time the bells rang noon.