Black and grey yin yang tattoo of a white cat and a black cat curled together inside a circle, on the side of a person's ribs.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Yin yang cats on the ribs

Ribs · Black and grey · Photo

A circular yin yang design shows a white cat and a black cat curled around each other with closed eyes and tails meeting at the outline. The black areas are solid fill with a subtle textured finish, while the white cat is left as bare skin with fine dark linework for its features. The tattoo sits centred on the side of the torso against a plain skin background with a dark red fabric edge at the top.

Ribs Yin yang Cat Black cat Circle Sleeping cat

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, you lot, and mind the paraffin tin. Aye, I'll tell it, though my knees object. This is about the Ness light, the year the fog came in off the Firth and stayed eleven days like a lodger who'd not paid his rent.

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The keeper then was a widower called Alasdair Finnie, and he kept two cats he never named, because he said a named cat expects things. One was white as a gull's belly, the other black as the inside of a coal scuttle. They hated each other on principle. Every night at the turn of the watch they fought over the warm end of the lamp-room step, hissing like kettles, and every morning he found them curled nose to tail, one tucked into the other's curve, purring as if they'd settled the matter in their sleep.

On the eleventh night the fog sat so thick on the glass that the beam showed nothing but a yellow smear on the cloud. Finnie climbed with his lamp and found only the white cat, sitting bolt upright at the top step, staring at the dark. The black one was gone. He searched the store room, the gallery, the iron rail slick with wet. Then came a thin mew from the stairwell below, and when he looked down the spiral he saw the white cat's tail flick once and vanish. He followed it round and round until he found the black cat wedged behind the coal bucket with a bad leg, and the white one pressed against its belly, keeping it warm.

They came up the stair together, the white one leading and the black one hobbling after, and Finnie lit the lamp by hand while the boats out there went on blind. Come morning the fog lifted like a sheet off a table, and there they were on the step again, nose to tail. I never did give them names. A name would only have told them who was in charge, and they'd worked that out between themselves, the way cats do, with the light turning over them and the sea keeping its distance.