Fine line tattoo of a black cat with a curled tail, paw prints and a small red heart, placed on the upper chest near the collarbone.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat and paw prints on upper chest

Fine line · Chest · Mixed · Photo

A black line drawing of a cat with a long curled tail sits on the upper chest, with a trail of small black paw prints above it. A tiny red heart is placed among the paw prints, and the rest of the design is solid black ink on pale skin. The thin, simple linework is centred on the chest with plenty of clear space around it.

Fine line Chest Cat Paw print Heart

Find an artist for this

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

Marrow went up the tower stairs ahead of me every evening, the way a clerk walks ahead of a magistrate, and every evening she left her prints in the salt the wind drove through the gaps in the iron treads. Forty-one steps. I counted them the winter I came out to Scarra Rock, and I counted them again the winter after, when the boat stopped coming in October and the lamp was the only thing on the island that kept regular hours.

Keep reading

The cat was not mine. The Board had sent her out with the paraffin, a tin of biscuits and a letter saying she would keep the mice from the stores. She kept the mice. She also kept to the gallery rail in the gales, sitting on the cold brass with her tail wrapped round her feet, watching the sea come over the lower ledges as if she had money on it.

On the night the Eleanor Dunn went onto the Teeth, I lit the lamp late, my fingers too stiff to strike the match. Marrow was already on the rail. When I climbed out to her she stood, looked down past the glass into the black, and gave one thin cry. The water threw a flare of white up the rock. I saw one lantern bobbing in the surf, then a second. I hauled the rope and we brought in two men and a boy, and the boy had nothing with him but a tin of tea wrapped in oilskin.

In the morning the prints were still there in the salt on the stair, small and dark and all going up. I did not follow them at once. I climbed slowly, one hand on the wall, and found her asleep in the lamp room with her tail curled round a red glass float the boy had dropped. I left it where it was and put the kettle on.