Close-up of a small solid black cat silhouette tattoo sitting behind a person's ear, shown in a side view.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small black cat silhouette behind the ear

Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small solid black silhouette of a seated cat, with its tail curling up, sits on the skin directly behind the ear. The shape is filled with solid black ink with no visible shading or outline detail. The background is out-of-focus hair and skin, and the tattoo is the only point of colour contrast in the frame.

Other Cat Silhouette

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat had come down the harbour steps at Skerrin Cove the winter the herring failed, black as a boot and twice as stubborn, and it chose the wall above the slipway as its seat. Nobody owned it. The fishwives fed it scraps of mackerel and called it Tuck, because its tail folded up over its paws like a hand closing on a coin.

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Tuck would not go aboard the Morwenna. Every morning the crew of six came down the steps with their oilskins and lunch tins, and every morning the cat sat on the wall and watched them with eyes like two wet stones. Ashore, young Jory Pell laughed at it. Old Sebastian Hale, who had sailed forty years out of that cove, did not laugh. He took off his oilskins, sat down on the wall beside the cat, and the crew went out without him.

The fog came in at noon. By dusk the Morwenna had not returned, and the women lit lanterns along the quay until their arms ached. Sebastian sat with the cat through the long night. Near dawn, when the fog thinned to grey wool, the cat stood, stretched, and walked to the far end of the wall where the rocks shelved into the water. It turned and looked back at him, then lifted its tail straight up and let the tip curl like a question mark pointing at the sea.

Sebastian followed the tail. Half a mile out, the Morwenna lay on her side in the shallows with her crew clinging to the keel, the reef hidden from every eye but a cat's. The cat was never seen on the wall again. Sebastian still reckons it went to sea with the men it brought home, and on nights when the wind sits in the east, the fishwives swear they hear it purring beneath the hull.