Fine line colour tattoo of a curled ginger cat with green leaves, blue and purple flowers and a small bird, placed on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sleeping ginger cat with flowers on ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A ginger cat curls up asleep, surrounded by green leaves, small blue and purple flowers and a tiny blue bird. The linework is fine and delicate, with soft, watercolour-like shading in orange, green, blue and purple. The cat is the central focus, with sprigs of flowers trailing to the right of the design.

Fine line Botanical Ankle Cat Sleeping cat Flower Leaves Bird

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The milkman swore he saw her again on Tuesday, curled on the wall of number nine with her paws tucked under like a loaf left to rise. Nobody in Thornbury Lane believed him, because the cat had belonged to nobody for as long as anyone could remember, and cats that belong to nobody are hard to pin a story on.

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Old Mrs Hale at number nine said the cat had come with the spring. She was ginger as marmalade and about as sweet, and she liked the square of warm stone under the lavender where Arthur Hale used to sit with his pipe. Mrs Hale never fed her. She only left the back gate open a crack and let the mint grow where it wanted, and Tansy came and went through the gaps as she pleased.

One April morning the gate would not open at all. Mrs Hale had painted it blue the week before, and the paint had stuck the latch fast. The postman tried it twice, and a small blue bird landed on the top rail and sang at the whole lane until somebody laughed. Tansy did not bother with the gate. She stretched through the gap between the bricks, wove along the borage and forget-me-nots, and sat down in the middle of the path as if she had been waiting for someone to notice the flowers had come up the whole way to the step.

Mrs Hale said afterwards that she had never seen the garden so full, and she had grown up in it. She put the kettle on, and the cat slept on in a curl of orange under the sprigs of violet, and the bird kept watch from the gatepost. Nobody mended the latch that year. They just stepped over the flowers.