Black and grey realism tattoo of a cat in profile wearing steampunk goggles and brass-style gears, placed on the side of the ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Steampunk cat on the ribs

Realism · Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A cat in profile wears a pair of steampunk goggles and a harness of mechanical parts, including cogs, gears and pipework. The fur and whiskers are shaded in fine greyscale detail, with strong contrast between the highlights and the dark metal components. The design fills the side of the torso, with the cat's head at the top and the gears layered across the lower half.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The tower clock has stopped again, and Brother Anselm has sent you up the forty-one steps with a lantern in one hand and a spanner in the other, because the cat has got into the works. You have been warned about Vesper since your first week. She came to the abbey as a kitten in a crate of rivets, and by spring she had a pair of diving goggles strapped to her head and a grievance against the wine press.

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She is waiting for you on the escapement, sitting in profile with the lantern light sliding over her brass lenses. Around her shoulders is the harness she built from pipe offcuts and a bicycle chain, every buckle stamped with the abbey's mark. Her whiskers are fine as threads of steel. The great wheel behind her is still, and one of its teeth has been gently pushed aside with a single grey paw.

You reach for the harness and she does not move, which tells you she has been doing this on purpose. Brother Anselm says the clock has only ever been wrong by a minute a year. You count the gears under the lantern and understand: each night, after the monks have gone to Compline, she has been nudging the pins back into line so the bell rings true for the village below. Tonight she let it stop, perhaps so that someone would climb up and see.

You set the pin back. The wheel turns, the escapement clicks, and Vesper stands, shakes out her goggles and drops down the ladder without a sound. At dawn the bell rings six, exactly on time, and you find her asleep in the hollow of the wine press with the harness still buckled on.

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