Black and grey photograph of a snarling big cat head tattoo on an upper chest, with the shading breaking up into fine dots toward the shoulder.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Snarling big cat dotwork on upper chest

Dotwork · Chest · Black and grey · Photo

A roaring big cat head with bared teeth and a wide open mouth, shown in profile on the upper chest. The face is built from dense shading and fine contour lines, and the tattoo dissolves into scattered black dots across the shoulder. The image is a black and white close view against a dark background, with the skin tones kept soft.

Dotwork Blackwork Chest Big cat Lion Snarl Teeth Animal head

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tomasz,

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The rain got into the market before the stallholders did, so by seven the awnings over the cheese stall were sagging and Mr Okonjo was bailing them with a bucket like a man emptying a boat. I am writing this on the back of an invoice because my notebook has gone soft. You will want to know about the lion.

The brass lion from the auction lot, the one you swore was worth forty pounds, arrived with its mane gone green at the tips. I scrubbed it with vinegar and an old toothbrush while Mrs Pell sold tea in paper cups. It has a split muzzle and one eye still packed with grime, and when I held it under the bulb it looked as if it meant to roar at the weather. Nobody bought it. A man in a grey coat stood at the trestle a long time, turning it over, then set it down and said the teeth were too sharp for a mantelpiece.

He was right, and that is what I keep thinking about. Teeth are not for mantelpieces. At half past four a girl came in under the tarpaulin with her hood up and asked whether we did repairs. She had a sketch on a napkin of a big cat coming apart into dust, all dots and grit, a roar that dissolved at the edges like smoke off a struck match. She wanted it inked somewhere near the station, and she wanted it to look like the rain.

I gave her the lion for nothing. Tell Mum the cheque is in the tin and not to open the second drawer. Come home Sunday and bring the good scissors and a bigger bucket. The awnings will not last the winter.

Love, Ruth