Realism tattoo of a black cat's head and shoulders with yellow eyes and a red collar, on the forearm, shown beside the printed reference photo.

Black cat portrait tattoo on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A realistic portrait of a black cat, shown from the front with its head tilted slightly and a tail curling above. The fur is rendered with soft black and dark grey shading and fine strands, while the yellow eyes and red collar add colour. The tattoo sits on a forearm, with a printed photo of the same cat placed beside it for comparison.

Realism Forearm Cat Black cat Pet portrait Collar Tail Eye

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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

Dear Tom, the Bramleys came in early this year and the wasps have already found the windfalls under the far wall. Soot has taken to sitting in the lowest branch of the old Cox like a lamp someone forgot to switch off, his yellow eyes the only bright thing in the grove once the light goes. You'd laugh at the collar. Mum bought it at the Saturday market, red elastic with a brass tag shaped like a little bell, and it jingles every time he drops off the wall.

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Last Tuesday he missed supper. I walked the rows with the torch, calling the daft name Dad used to shout across the yard, and found him at the far end by the broken gate, sitting very upright beside a crate of pears as if he'd been posted there. The tag had snagged on the wire. I worked it free and he let me, which he never does. Then he stood, walked straight to the old well and sat facing the dark mouth of it, tail curled round his feet, waiting.

I didn't want to go down. I went anyway, with Dad's rope and the paraffin lantern. Under a skin of leaves and a lot of dead wasps was a tin box, the lid rusted through at one corner. Inside were the orchard deeds, a photograph of a black cat with a red ribbon at its throat, and a card in Grandad's square capitals: KEEP THE GATE SHUT IN AUGUST. We have never once shut it in August, and I suppose nobody ever told us why.

So the gate is shut now. Soot sleeps on the lid of that tin every night, bell chiming whenever he turns over, and I have started to believe the apples will keep coming if we do exactly what Grandad said. Write soon. Yours, Jen.