Black and grey cat head tattoo with green eyes and fine whiskers, in a realistic style, on the centre of a stomach above the navel.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat head on the stomach

Realism · Other · Mixed · Photo

A cat's head faces forward, with pointed ears, a grey tabby-like coat and whiskers that extend outward on either side of the muzzle. The shading is soft and detailed, with fine hatching in the fur and strong contrast around the nose and eyes, while the eyes are filled with bright green. The tattoo sits centrally on the abdomen, with the navel visible below and the hands of the wearer holding fabric at the top of the frame.

Realism Neo-trad Other Cat Cat head Whiskers Ear

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The frost had got into the water butt again, and Mabel Hobday had to break it with the heel of her boot before the ewes could drink. Behind her the cat watched from the top of the gatepost, grey as the sky over Coldharbour, and did not come down to help.

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Her name was Sorrel, though nobody had given it to her. She had come up the lane in October with a torn ear and a way of sitting that said she had belonged to someone once. The farm kept her because the mice took no notice of anything else. Her eyes were the green of pond weed under ice, and when the lamp was lit in the byre they caught the flame and held it longer than a cat's eyes should.

Old Abel swore she could smell the thaw coming. On the night the snow stopped, the lamb went missing from the far field. Mabel went out with the lantern and found the cat sitting on the drift beside a hollow where the snow had been pressed flat by something that had come and gone on small clawed feet. Sorrel did not move. She turned her head and looked at Mabel with those green eyes, then at the hedge, and began to wash her face, which Abel said meant the matter was settled.

They found the lamb under the hawthorn at dawn, dry and bleating, with the tracks stopping short of it as if they had lost their nerve. Mabel never asked how. She set a saucer of milk by the gatepost every night after that, and when the frost came back in February, Sorrel sat by the stove with her whiskers spread, waiting for someone to ask her the weather.