Black and grey blackwork tattoo of two cats curled into a yin yang circle on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Yin yang cats on a forearm

Blackwork · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black cat and a lighter cat curl around each other inside a circle, forming a yin yang shape. The linework is bold and outlined, with dense hatching and fine stippling giving the dark cat its fur texture and leaving the light cat largely open skin. The image is close and slightly angled, with the tattoo centred on the forearm against a paper towel background.

Blackwork Forearm Cat Yin yang Circle Animal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The night the last northbound was cancelled for good, I found the two cats asleep in the lost property cupboard, nose to tail on a heap of unclaimed umbrellas. Soot was the black one, a tom with a torn ear who had lived on platform four since before the new barriers went in. The pale one had turned up in October, thin as a coat hanger, and Mrs Okafor from the buffet named her Biscuit before anyone asked.

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Nobody liked the arrangement. The station manager wanted them out, the cleaners wanted them out, and I wanted a quiet shift. Every morning I carried Biscuit into the yard, and every evening she was back on the umbrellas, with Soot there too, pretending he had not waited. They circled each other the way the old signal lamps used to turn, slow and careful, never quite touching, one always half a step behind the other.

In February a notice went up saying the cupboard was staff only, and a fortnight later meltwater came through the vent and ruined the lot. I found them in the waiting room instead, pressed together under the bench, their two shapes making a ring of fur on the cold tiles. I stood there with my keys in my hand for a long time. Then I fetched the old tartan blanket from the shelf and laid it down beside them.

The notice came down in March. Nobody mentioned it, and nobody mentioned the blanket either, which by then had two worn patches in one corner where the paws had kneaded it flat. Some mornings I still count the umbrellas. I can tell you which ones were left by people who never came back, and which ones the cats have quietly made their own.