Fine line outline of a sitting cat on the back of an ankle, drawn in dark ink against pale skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sitting cat outline on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A small outline of a cat seen in profile, sitting upright with its head raised and tail curled around its side. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the single dark ink reads as near black. The tattoo sits centrally on the back of the ankle against a plain wooden surface and a blurred pale background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the sawdust on the step, it gets into everything. Come in out of the wind and sit where the lamp reaches. You'll want to see the cat before the Dunmore lorries come for the last of the canvas, because after tomorrow nobody will be left who remembers her. Her name was Pearl. The bills at the gate said Mademoiselle Perle, but the children called her Pearl, and Pearl is what she answered to, if she answered at all.

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She never once jumped through a hoop. Old Halloran spent two summers trying to teach her, with ribbons and cold sausage and a great deal of shouting, and in the end he gave up and let her do as she pleased. What she pleased to do was sit. Every evening, when the band packed up and the crowd that had stopped coming went home early, she climbed to the top of the empty bandwagon, settled her haunches, lifted her chin and looked out through the open flap towards the gate, as though the whole show were still waiting on the far side of it.

Halloran sold the elephant in March and the big top to a farmer who wanted it for hay. Tomas, the boy who swept the ring, asked me once why we kept feeding a cat who did nothing for her supper. I told him the truth. Some creatures are only there to be looked at, and the looking is their work. She never once asked anyone to clap.

On the last night the lorries came down the lane with their headlamps blazing. Pearl dropped from the wagon, walked out through the gate ahead of them and stopped at the crossroads where the tarmac splits. She sat in the middle of the road, tail curled round her paws, head raised. Tomas ran after her with a torch. The drivers braked and waited. Nobody moved until she had decided which way the show was going, and then, very slowly, she got up and took the left.

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