Colour tattoo of a green zombie cartoon cat with a bow, red dress and blood, with a spider web and flies, on the inner forearm near the wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Zombie cartoon cat on the wrist

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A cartoon cat character with a large bow and a red dress is shown with green, zombie-like skin, dripping red blood and black outlines. A spider web and small flies sit in the background on the left and right of the figure. The linework is bold and black, with soft, flat colour fills in green, yellow, pink and red on pale skin.

Forearm Zombie Cartoon cat Bow Dress Blood Spider web

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The third time the kettle boiled over, Pudding Mew decided the dead could wait for their tea. She tied her bow again, a fresh red ribbon the size of a dinner plate, and checked it in the reflection of the toaster. Her green fur had gone the colour of mushy peas sometime on Sunday, and a drip of strawberry jam had dried on her dress like a badge of office. Nobody on Thistle Lane had complained yet, though Mrs Abernethy had stopped answering her door and the spider in her conservatory had spun a web across the whole porch in protest.

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The flies had taken to following Pudding about like a bad reputation. They buzzed over the marmalade, the bins, and the tin of custard creams she kept for emergencies. She had counted seventeen of them on the bread bin alone. Derek the spider, who had lived in the porch web for six years and considered himself the lane's chief inspector, sent a single disapproving thread down to brush her ear as she passed.

At half past eight the milkman shuffled up the path, one arm hanging loose, a crate of semi-skimmed rattling in the other. He had been dead since the Friday and had never once forgotten the Tuesday round. Pudding opened the back gate, took two pints from him and gave him the last custard cream in the tin. He stared at it for a long time, then nodded, which was as close to thanks as either of them managed these days.

She sat on the garden wall with her tea going cold and watched the sun climb over the allotments. A smear of jam sat on her paw. She licked it off and thought that the world might have ended on Sunday, but the milk still came on Tuesdays, and somebody had to keep the bow looking respectable.