Small fine line tattoo of a black and white cat face with yellow eyes on the inner forearm near the wrist, with a real cat sleeping beside it.

Black and white cat face on the inner wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A small tattoo of a cat's face sits on the inner wrist, showing a black and white coat, pointed ears, whiskers and a pink nose. The linework is thin and clean, with soft grey shading across the markings and small yellow accents in the eyes. A sleeping black and white cat rests beside the arm against a patterned fabric, so the tattoo and the real animal appear side by side.

Fine line Forearm Cat Cat face Whiskers Pet Sleeping cat

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat is already on the companionway when you come up for the morning watch, sitting square on the wet boards as though she had paid for the passage. Half black, half white, with a smudge of ink across her nose that makes her look like a clerk who has been at the ledgers. Cook calls her Mrs Pennock. Nobody else has been consulted.

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Three weeks out from Valparaiso the barometer falls faster than the mate likes, and the watch goes aloft in a rain so cold it feels like gravel. You are on the foreyard with a reef point in your teeth when the cat appears on the ratlines below you, yellow eyes fixed on the drop, unhurried. She climbs as if the rigging were a staircase in her own house. Nobody teaches a cat to do that. You stop cursing long enough to watch her.

Off the Horn the ship lies over so far the lee rail goes under, and the galley fire is drowned. That night, when the hands are too wet to sleep, Mrs Pennock settles on your chest in the forecastle, warm as a loaf and purring like a loose sail. She has no interest in the storm. She has, you suppose, the same interest in you that a lighthouse has in ships: a steady point to keep your bearings by.

The weather breaks on the twelfth day. You wake to a flat grey sea and a sky the colour of pewter, and find her asleep in the bight of a coiled hawser, one white paw tucked under her black chin. You take a pencil from your pocket and draw her face on the back of a manifest, and when you hold it up she opens one eye, studies the paper, and decides it is a fair likeness.