Walking cat and meow on a wrist
Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A black outline tattoo of a cat in mid-stride, facing left with its tail raised, sits on the inner wrist. The word meow is spaced out in small serif lettering beneath it. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the photograph is black and white with a silver bangle visible at the edge of the frame.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
You had given up on the road at four o'clock, when the drifts swallowed the milestone and the lamp above the stable door guttered out. You were shovelling the step when the cat came up out of the white, tail held straight as a bell rope, walking as though the snow had been laid down for it.
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Agnes said it belonged to nobody, and the carter said it belonged to him, since it had ridden in his cart from Harrowgate without being asked. By midnight the cat had claimed the settle, the heel of the loaf and the good chair nearest the stove, and no one had the nerve to lift it down. You watched it cross the flagstones with that unhurried stride, one forepaw raised as if stepping over a puddle nobody else could see.
Near dawn the guests slept in a heap of greatcoats. You found the guestbook open on the bar, and beneath the last signature a row of small inky prints marched down the page. At the foot, the cat had dipped one paw and stamped the word MEOW in capitals that smudged like soot. Nobody would admit to writing it, and the cat was not telling.
By the time the ploughs came through, the cat was gone and its tracks had been filled in by the wind. Agnes charged the carter for the bread. You kept the page. Some nights you still turn to it and read the word aloud, quietly, the way you would greet a guest who has come back in out of the weather.
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