Enlarged with AI from a smaller original
Sphynx cat face on a forearm
Dotwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A front-facing sphynx cat head sits centrally on pale skin, with large upturned ears, wide eyes and a small nose. The image is built from fine dot stippling for shading across the face, combined with darker outlines and wrinkle lines on the forehead. The tattoo is in black ink and greys, set against a dark, out-of-focus background.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
Pull your chairs in, the lot of you, and mind the cake, because that cat on the end of the trestle has been watching it since the vicar said grace. Yes, that one. No, it hasn't got a single hair on it, and no, I don't know who thought that was a good idea for a cat. Sit down, Ivy, you'll have your frock in the gravy.
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Its name was Admiral, and it came to the door of the Lamb and Flag the winter the mill shut, all ears and bones and wrinkled brow, looking like an old man who'd been told bad news and didn't believe it. Nobody wanted it. Old Tom Rendle said it looked like a rat somebody had left in the bath. But Nan Pryce put a saucer of milk down by the range, and the creature sat with its great eyes fixed on the till, and it never once blinked while the money went missing.
Every night after closing, Admiral sat on the counter and stared at the same spot. Tom laughed at first. Then the cash box went light, and Nan set a trap of her own. She sat in the back with the lamp turned low and watched the cat watch Tom. He came in at midnight with his hand inside his coat, and Admiral let out a sound like a kettle coming to the boil, and that was the end of Tom Rendle in these parts.
So when the Pryce boy brought his girl here today, the cat came along with the family, the way things do. He's lived on this table since the day of Nan's funeral, and he has never once looked away from a fib. Mind your manners, lad. Admiral's still counting.
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