Black and white line drawing of several kittens with bird-like wings, shown in flight across a white background.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Winged kittens in flight, line drawing

Black and grey · Flash

Four small sketches of tabby kittens with feathered bird wings, shown in different poses, some mid-leap and others standing. The linework is dark and bold with hatched shading along the wings and bodies. The drawings are in black ink on white, arranged loosely across the page with the largest kitten in the lower centre.

Kitten Cat Wing Feather

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are scraping burnt porridge from the big copper pot when Biscuit drops through the galley skylight onto the range, wings snapping open like a wet umbrella. Mr Pardoe has forbidden cats in the galley since Lisbon, but the ship's tabby has never once asked permission. Behind her, three kittens tumble down the ladder in a heap, and every one of them has a pair of brown feathered wings folded untidily along its back, the feathers still stuck together with salt.

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Nobody aboard the *Cordelia* can say where they came from. The bosun swears the litter was born in the foretop among the gulls' nests. The second mate says it was the hens that brought them, shipped from Falmouth in a crate that never quite stopped squawking. You only know that they go up the rigging like sparrows and come down like falling leaves, and that they eat mackerel heads off your palm without ever touching the skin of your fingers.

The captain came down on the third morning, saw them asleep in the flour bin, and said that a ship with flying cats would never see a port again. He wanted them over the side before the Azores. You said nothing. You waited until the watch changed, lifted the hatch, and carried them up one by one in a sack that smelled of onions.

The squall was building off the larboard bow. You tipped the sack open at the rail. Biscuit went first, then the smallest, then the two that were always fighting, their wings beating grey wet air until they caught the wind and climbed past the mainyard. A single feather drifted down onto the galley step, and you pressed it flat inside your apron pocket, where it still is.