Black and grey dotwork drawing of a big cat's face framed by geometric spikes and dots, shown as a flash design with no body placement.

Stippled big cat face in geometric frame

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

A big cat's face in three-quarter profile is built from fine stippled dots, with shading that gives the fur and muzzle depth. Its eyes and nose are rendered in more detail than the surrounding areas. A ring of pointed geometric shapes, filled with dots and outlined in solid lines, surrounds the head like a mandala, and white circles sit within the frame.

Dotwork Geometric Cat Big cat Face Mandala Dot Spike

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, sit down, the kettle's on and you're not going anywhere till I've finished. No, not that chair, the one with the spring. The cat came up the stairwell of Harrowgate House on a Tuesday, the week the lift broke for the third time that year, and it came up slowly, because a cat that size doesn't hurry for anybody.

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Nobody on the ninth floor had a cat. Mrs Ojo had a tortoise and Mr Pell kept pigeons on a balcony he wasn't supposed to have. So when the great spotted head pushed through the gap in the fire door, we all stood very still, the way you do with a bus driver who's having a bad day. It didn't roar. It looked at each of us in turn, the way the old men look at a horse before they buy it, then it looked past us at the dead ferns by the lift, and it lay down among them.

Here's the bit you won't believe. The ferns started to move. There was no wind in that stairwell, none at all. They unfurled into points, sharp as cut paper, and each point had a little white moon sitting in its middle, and between the points the air went thick and grey, like the dots on an old television when the signal goes. Mr Pell swore the whole block was breathing through the pattern.

And the cat turned its head, and it had our faces, all of them, pressed into the fur like coins in a pocket. Then the lift pinged back to life, and when the doors opened there was nothing on the carpet but fine grey dust and one white feather. Mrs Ojo's tortoise, which had been on the ninth floor all along, was walking slowly towards the stairs, as if it had somewhere to be.