Close photograph of a small solid black silhouette of a seated cat tattooed on the inner wrist.

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 seated cat sits on the inner wrist, with the tail curling out to the left. The shape is filled in with solid black ink and has smooth edges, with no shading or added detail. The photograph is taken close up against a plain, slightly warm skin tone and a dark background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lion went to a sanctuary in Wales in March, then the ponies, then the two clowns who could not stand the sight of each other without a bucket of water to hand. That left Mabel's black cat, Tuppence, and me to hold up the last of Pell's Travelling Circus for the Whitsun crowds in a Kent car park. Nobody came for the cat. They came for the tent, though there was less of it every week, patched with tarpaulin where the moths had got in.

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Tuppence had one trick, which was to sit on the red pedestal under the one working spotlight and do nothing at all. Mabel called it a pose. Dad called it sulking. Each night she sat with her back straight and her tail curled round her front paws like a dropped ribbon, and each night the children went quiet, because a cat that does nothing is harder to look away from than a cat that jumps through hoops. I held the lamp on her and counted the empty seats.

In August the council wanted the ground back and Mabel had a stroke in the caravan, so the last show was a Tuesday with eleven people in the stands. Tuppence walked out, sat on the pedestal, and refused to get down. We waited. The light buzzed. The eleven clapped politely, then a small girl in a yellow mac stood up and said, very clearly, "She's waiting for someone."

Nobody was. The lamp went off, the tent came down in the dark, and when I found the cat again she was on the sawdust by the gate, sitting upright, tail curled out to the left, facing the road home. I picked her up and she let me. Some acts end with a bow. Ours ended with a cat who had decided where she was going.

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