Small black fine line moustache tattoo on a finger, with a tabby cat's nose and white paws pressed against it.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small moustache tattoo on a finger with a cat

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A tabby cat with its eyes closed rests its paws around a person's finger, which bears a small, simple black moustache tattoo. The tattoo is drawn in clean, thin black linework with solid ink and no shading. The background is soft and out of focus, with the cat's grey and white fur and a pale pink patterned surface filling the frame.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat has taken the good ink again, and you are the one who has to get it back. Brother Cuthbert says the abbey's copy of the Rule will be finished by Michaelmas if the scriptorium stops losing its pots to Ottoline, a tabby of such dignity that the monks have given her a stall in the chapter house. You find her in the warming room, asleep on the lid of the iron-gall jar, paws folded like a bishop's hands and a whisker of black ink on her chin.

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You kneel and try to lift her off. She opens one eye, judges you, and closes it again. Her paws hook around your finger as if it were a dowel she had always meant to take home, and when you pull, she grips harder, purring like a small mill. You think of the copyist Brother Edric, who drew a moustache in the margin of a psalter out of pure boredom and was made to scrape it away with pumice for a week of penance.

Then you notice the stain on your own fingertip, the ink you dipped to rule a line, and an idea arrives with the rudeness of a sneeze. You take the fine pen and draw, very slowly, a curling moustache just under the knuckle, the way the saints are painted with their halos. Ottoline lifts her head. She sniffs the ink, sneezes once, and then, for the first time all morning, stays exactly where she is.

Brother Cuthbert finds you there at vespers, your hand still caught in the cat's paws, and he studies the moustache for a long time before he sighs. "Well," he says, "at least she has stopped stealing the gall." Ottoline yawns. You are not sure which of you has won.

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