Black and grey dotwork and linework tattoo of a cat curled up asleep inside a circle with small stars, on the forearm.

Sleeping cat in a circle on a forearm

Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A cat curled up asleep is set inside a solid circular outline, with a few small four-pointed stars above and to the right. The cat is built from fine linework with stippled dotwork shading across its body, head and tail, and the stripes are drawn as simple lines. The tattoo is entirely black ink on pale skin, and the photograph is taken straight on at a slight angle across the forearm.

Dotwork Forearm Cat Sleeping cat Star Circle

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Nobody in Harrowmere had seen the Queen's grey cat awake after the bells rang eleven. My mother said it was the bells that tired the creature out, and my mother was the palace laundress, so she knew about tiredness. Each evening I was sent up the north tower with a saucer of cream and orders to bring the animal down before the midnight watch, because the watch needed the stairwell clear and the Queen needed her cat.

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On the third night I found it curled inside the great brass ring that hung from the observatory ceiling, nose tucked under its tail, the whole animal folded into a perfect round. I set the saucer down. I tapped the ring. It did not stir. Above it, the little stars the astronomers had painted in gold leaf looked as though a careless thumb had pressed them there, and I could not tell whether they had been there before or had only just appeared.

I went down to fetch the steward. He came up grumbling, lantern swinging, and held the light close for a long while. Then he sighed and said, 'Leave it. Her Majesty asked that the cat be kept from the cold, not woken.' So we did not wake it. In the morning the watch reported the stairs clear, and the bells rang on time.

I still climb the tower some evenings. The saucer is always full when I arrive, and the cat is always in the ring, dreaming with its paws folded under it. I count the stars above it, because someone must. There are seven now, and I have stopped minding that the number changes.