Tribal lynx face design

The gate at Halliwell Yard is finished at last, and I'm writing this on the back of a delivery docket because the ink in my good pen has gone thick with the cold. You'll remember old Mr Sallis wanted a cat on it to keep the rats off the coal. I told him a cat would only sit in the sun. He wanted a lynx instead, the ear tufts and the wide eyes, so I painted one bold and black across both leaves of the gate, with the whiskers running out past the hinges as though someone had pulled them taut.

Last Thursday, after the gaslamps went out and the fog came up off the Irwell, I stayed late to stripe the edges. I heard a scrape on the roof of the warehouse opposite and looked up. There was a shape against the sky, low and quick, ears laid flat like the points on my stencil. It stopped above the lamp, turned its head, and I swear it looked at the gate before it went over the parapet.

Now the gate is locked each night and the key hangs on the nail by the kettle. Every morning the tufts on the painted ears seem a little more worn, as if something has been pressing its face against the bars. I don't tell Sallis. He'd only want it repainted.

I've left the lamp in the front window lit for you. Come home when the boat's in, and bring your own brush. There's a lot of black left in the tin.

Love, Nell