Colour tattoo of a black cat silhouette filled with realistic pink roses and green leaves on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Black cat silhouette filled with pink roses

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A black cat silhouette, seen from the side with its head turned and tail curling up, forms the outline of the design. Two pink roses with shaded petals and green leaves sit within the cat's body and extend beyond its edge. The solid black fill contrasts with the soft shading of the flowers, and the design is centred on the skin of the arm.

Realism Botanical Forearm Cat Rose Leaves Tail

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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

Sit closer, the lot of you, the rain's come through the awnings and I'll not shout over it. This was the Thursday market on Wrenfield Street, back when the stalls stayed wet until noon. There was a flower seller called Maud Harrow who kept her barrow under a sheet of tarpaulin, and a black cat who came to sit on the sack of potatoes beside her as if he paid rent.

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Nobody owned him. The fishmonger swore he was a sailor's wife come back for her husband's debts, and the butcher said he was simply lazy and well fed. Maud never named him. She gave him the roses nobody would buy, the ones bruised at the edges and blushing pink where the petals had begun to give. He would lie across them and purr until they went soft under his weight, and the whole barrow smelled like a summer that had forgotten to leave.

One February the council men came with their clipboards and said the barrow had to go by Friday. Maud packed her roses into buckets and walked them down to the canal steps to sell to the boat people, a penny a bloom. The cat followed the whole way, tail up like a question mark, and at the lock he stopped and would not go another step.

So she sat down on the wet stone beside him, and the rain ran off the bridge in ropes. When the lock gates groaned open, the water rose over the step and took every rose out of her buckets, pink heads turning slowly out towards the sea. The cat watched them go without a single cry. Maud kept one bud that had caught on his tail, and she wore it pressed in her coat for forty years. Make of that what you will. I only tell it when it rains.