Small fine line black tattoo of a cat face with whiskers and dot eyes on the finger of a person with long blonde hair, in a Fine line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat face tattoo on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small black tattoo of a cat's face with a triangular nose, a curved mouth, two dot eyes and several long whiskers sits on the side of a finger. The linework is thin and even, with solid black ink and no shading. The background shows long blonde hair and a thin necklace, with the skin tone of the finger as the main colour.

Fine line Hand Cat Cat face Whiskers Animal Finger

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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

At Hollin Ford the customs post was a hut with one window, and the cat who ruled it was called Tolly. She sat on the rail of the footbridge every morning, grey as wet slate, and no carter crossed without leaving her a herring. Nobody could say how old she was. Her whiskers reached further than a man's outstretched arm, and the older drivers swore she could feel a lie in the air the way a sailor feels weather coming.

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The October Abel Crane came over with a handcart of brass buckles and a padlocked crate that he kept lifting by its iron handle as if it were light. Mrs Pryor, who kept the post with her late husband's pocket knife, asked him what was inside. He said buckles. Tolly stood up on the rail, arched her back, and walked the length of the cart with her tail held high, stopping at the crate. Her whiskers fanned out, quivering, each one as straight and black as a stroke of ink.

Mrs Pryor had seen enough. She levered the lid with the blade of her knife and found not buckles but the silver candlesticks that had gone missing from the chapel at Greyfield in the spring. Abel ran. He got as far as the middle of the ford before the river, swollen with October rain, took his boots and most of his dignity. Tolly watched from the rail and did not move at all.

That evening Mrs Pryor sat by the hut stove with a herring of her own and a pot of ink from the clerk's drawer. She drew a small cat's face on the side of her finger, a triangle for a nose, two dots for eyes, and whiskers that ran toward her knuckle. Tolly climbed into her lap, sniffed the new lines, and settled, satisfied that somebody at last had understood the job.