Black and grey realism tattoo of a walking tabby kitten with a trail of paw prints on the inner forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tabby kitten and paw prints on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A walking tabby kitten is tattooed in side profile across the inner forearm, with its tail raised and legs mid-stride. The fur is rendered with soft shading and dark stripes, giving it a three-dimensional, photographic quality. A line of small paw prints trails off to the right, and the image is in black and grey only.

Realism Forearm Cat Kitten Paw print

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The stationmaster's wife had told Edwin Pryce twice that the cat could not ride the 6.40 to Carlisle, and twice he had watched the grey tabby slip between the milk churns and climb the step of the guard's van as though it had a ticket. Nobody in Hebden Road had seen it arrive. It had simply been there one winter, sitting on the signal box steps, looking down the line as if it were waiting for someone who was late.

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Those who kept the station said the kitten walked the platform at dusk, always from the bench end toward the footbridge, and where its feet touched the wet boards the prints stayed. Pryce swept them up every morning with his broom, and every evening they came back, small and round, a line of them trailing off past the waiting room toward the coal yard. Nobody could say what they were for. His daughter Nell said the cat was walking home to somewhere it had lost, and that you only had to follow the prints far enough.

So in March, when the snow lay thin and the last train had gone, Nell pulled on her father's boots and followed. The prints went under the footbridge, across the goods siding, past the water tower where ferns grew green on the brick. They stopped at the end of a siding where a rusted wagon sat with its doors chained. Nell waited. Then the chain rattled, the door slid a hand's width, and a warm yellow light came out with the smell of hay and lamp oil.

She did not go in. She stood at the gap and counted the prints behind her, every one, until she could see the whole line from the platform lamp to where she stood. It was no longer a line at all, but a path worn plain by a great many small feet.