Small solid black silhouette of a seated cat tattooed on the inner wrist, with a hand raised above the leg in the background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small black cat on a wrist

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black silhouette of a cat sitting side on, with its tail curling at the base, is tattooed on the inner wrist or lower forearm. The shape is filled with black ink and has no shading, and the design sits alone on otherwise bare skin. The photograph shows a raised hand and bent legs against a dark background, with the tattoo as the only ink on show.

Forearm Cat Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dilys had the first trays proved by four, and by half past she was certain the cat had come in through the coal hatch again. It sat on the flour bin by the back door, a black shape against the grey window, tail wrapped round its feet as though it had been there since the night before. Nobody on Ferris Lane claimed it. The dog-walker who cut through the alley said it belonged to the church, and the vicar said it belonged to the bakery, which was how Dilys had come to be feeding it crusts for three winters.

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She scored the batch with a razor, one clean slash per loaf, and the cat watched every stroke without blinking. "You're not getting the heels," she told it. It yawned, showing a pink mouth like a pressed petal, then turned its head toward the oven as the timer clicked. Outside, a van reversed with its beeper going, and the first milk float whined past the shutter, its bottles chiming like a tray of spoons.

Her husband Tom had called the cat Tuesday, because it had first appeared on a Tuesday, and he had never once let it sit on the bin while he was working. She had stopped saying his name in the shop last spring. This morning she said it under her breath while she slid the loaves onto the racks, and the cat stood, stretched, and jumped down without a sound.

When the shutter went up at six, the bin was empty and the cat was gone. White paw prints ran across the sill and down the step, one neat line of them, and at the corner of Ferris Lane a small dark shape sat looking back at her, tail curled up like a question she was not yet ready to answer.