Fine line tattoo of a seated cat outline with pink, blue and purple watercolour splashes on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat silhouette with watercolour splashes on forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A black outline of a cat seen from behind, sitting with its tail curled to one side, is drawn in thin, even linework. Soft pink, blue and purple washes sit inside and around the outline, with some splatter marks. The tattoo is centred on a pale forearm against a blurred, neutral background.

Fine line Forearm Cat Silhouette Paint splash 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 down and mind the kettle, because this is a story that wants a cup in your hands. There was a painter in Whitby, a widow called Mrs Elspeth Carrow, who kept a studio above a chandler's shop, and she had one cat, a thin grey tom with a tail like a question mark. He never sat in her lap. He sat on the sill and watched the gulls, and when she worked he walked across her floor through the wet paint, so every morning she found his tracks in pink and blue across the boards.

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She used to scold him. Then one February the sea fog came in so thick that the harbour lamps went out one by one, and she could not see her own easel. Her fingers were cold and her brushes were stiff. She sat down on the floorboards to wait for the fog to lift, and the cat came and curled his tail round her wrist, and she felt the warmth of him through her sleeve. He stayed there until dawn. When the light came through the window she saw the wash she had been chasing for a year lying across the paper in splashes, as if he had walked it there himself.

The painting went to a gallery in Scarborough and sold for more than she had earned in a decade. People asked her what the blue was called. She said it was called cold hands, and that was true enough.

She never got the cat back. Some say he walked out into the fog and the fog kept him, and that on still nights you can see his tail curling at the edge of the harbour light. I have never seen it myself, but I have never looked for it either, and that is the trouble with fog, friend. It makes an honest man of every liar.