Script lettering and lace thigh band
Lettering · Chest · Black and grey · Photo
A person lies on a white bed with an orange tabby cat beside them, wearing high-waisted denim shorts printed with cartoon figures. Fine black script lettering runs across the upper torso, and a black lace-style band encircles the upper thigh. A tattooed arm extends in from the left, and dark linework is visible on the lower leg.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The cat arrived on the Tuesday the last northbound train was cancelled, and by Friday he had claimed the lost property office as his own. You do not argue with a tabby that sits on the lace of a returned christening gown and refuses to move. Mrs Okafor at the ticket hall says he came up the embankment with a ribbon in his mouth, and nobody has ever got it back from him.
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Lost property is where the letters end up. Every week a stack of undelivered post arrives in a grey canvas sack, addressed in every hand you can imagine: careful capitals, loops that lean like wind-bent hedges, a flourish that runs off the edge of the envelope. You sort them on the counter while the cat watches the clock. Most go back to the postal depot. The ones with no stamp you keep, and you read them, because the depot never asked you to stop.
One evening a card came with a single line in looping script: Better, faster, further. No name, no station, no signature. You held it up to the strip light for a long time. The cat stretched across the counter and knocked it into the bin, and you let it lie there among the teabags and the cold pasties.
On Monday a woman in a green coat came asking for a parcel she had posted by mistake. She saw the card in the bin, fished it out and laughed. It was her own handwriting, she said, sent to herself from this platform years ago, and she had been meaning to collect it. She folded it into her coat and went out into the rain. The cat watched her go, then curled back into the gown as if nothing had ever been delivered at all.
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