Sitting cat silhouette on the wrist
Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A small, solid black silhouette of a cat sitting upright and facing left, with its head raised and tail curled to the right. The shape is filled with solid black ink with no visible linework or shading, and the edges are crisp. The tattoo is centred on the inner wrist against pale skin, with a raised fist and yellow nails in the upper part of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The cat came over on the supply boat in a fish crate, the week my father stopped writing letters to the mainland. The relief man said she had been left on the quay at Stroma with a label reading only KEEP HER DRY. We called her Tallow because she sat so close to the lamp that it seemed she was warming herself on the light itself, and because her shape on the whitewashed wall at dusk was the only thing on the rock that never looked unfinished.
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She kept to the gallery rail in the evenings, sitting upright with her back to the cottage and her face to the open water, her tail curled round her feet like a question mark someone had decided not to finish. My father said she was counting the ships. I thought she was waiting for the one that would come back for her.
In February the fog came in thick as wool, and the foghorn cracked its diaphragm on the third night. My father sat with his head in his hands in the lamp room while the beam swept over nothing at all. Tallow walked the length of the gallery, stopped at the rail and yowled once, a sound like a rope under strain. I took the spare mantle from the press and climbed up after her. She was not looking at the sea. She was looking straight down at the ledge, where a small boat lay tangled in kelp with its lantern still burning.
We had it in by the time the tide turned. At dawn I found her back on the rail, black against the paling sky, tail curled, and I understood she had been counting us all along: one, two, three, home.
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