Muffin or Something

We get all kinds in here. From the teenager who wants a touch-up on her seventh tattoo, to the grandma who’s getting her first. From bikers to doctors, from strippers to nuns. We don’t get

many nuns, but it happens. Scripture and angels look holy on flesh.

And the single most common customer we see is the one who’s grieving. Grief transcends all backgrounds. Sometimes it’s an elaborate portrait of a late loved one. Sometimes it’s as simple as a dead man’s first initial.

She came to the parlor directly from the vet, having just put down her cat. I’m happy to draw cats from photographs—I especially like shading their eyes—but all she wanted was the name. Muffin, or something foodsy. Out of politeness I asked to see a picture.

Before my brain could comprehend what was happening, I said aloud, “Meridian, he told me you ran away.”

She looked as shocked as I felt. “He…he said his ex-girlfriend didn’t want her anymore. He said she…you…abandoned her.”

“He. Fucking. Lied.”

“Yes,” she spat, with matching venom. “He does that. You know what? I think I want a different tattoo.”

Before the ink was dry, we made our plan.