Traditional style panther head with green eyes and a red open mouth inside a banner reading Burn Burn Burn, tattooed on an upper arm.

Snarling panther head with banner on upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A black panther head snarls to the right, showing yellow fangs and a red open mouth, with green eyes and red accents at the nose and ear. Bold black outlines and grey shading give the cat its form, and it sits inside a curled banner with the words BURN BURN BURN along its lower edge. The bright colour accents stand out against the black ink and pale skin, with a curled ribbon above the head completing the composition.

Traditional Upper arm Panther Banner Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat had been coming down to the slipway every evening since the boats went out, and by the third week you had stopped pretending she belonged to anyone else. Black as a coal sack, with eyes that caught the lamp from the harbour wall and held it, she sat on the iron bollard as if she had been paid to watch the water for you. The old men at the Ferrier's Arms called her the Burner's Cat, because the fairground that had once wintered on Skerrow had left in a hurry, and something about the way its painted signs had gone up in flames that October had never been properly explained.

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On the night of the bonfire the tar barrels caught early. Sparks rose over the shingle like a flock of startled gulls, and the whole village went quiet in the way people do when a fire has got ahead of them. You had gone back for Ellen's ledger, the one with the lobster counts she would never forgive you for losing, and the boathouse was already thick with smoke. You could not see your own boots. Then something brushed past your ankle, low and certain, and a pair of green eyes turned once in the murk before walking off towards the back door you had forgotten existed.

You followed her out into the cold. The ledger was in your arms, singed at one corner. When you turned round to thank her, the bollard was bare, and above the boathouse roof a thin ribbon of smoke was curling up and over, slow and deliberate, the way a tail does when its owner has decided the matter is closed. Nobody at the bonfire asked where you had been. The old men only touched their caps, as if they had seen it before.