Black fine line tattoo of a cat's nose, mouth and whiskers across the side of a finger.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cat whiskers tattoo on a finger

Fine line · Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A simple black line tattoo shows a cat's nose, mouth and whiskers across the side of a finger. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the ink is solid black against pale skin. The close crop centres the finger, with a blonde person's wavy hair and a heart pendant necklace blurred in the background.

Fine line Hand Cat Whiskers Nose Face

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Margaret Pryce had come to the Ashgrove reunion to be seen, and so far nobody had looked twice at her, which suited her fine. She stood by the trestle table with a paper cup of warm squash, watching the old gym hall fill with people who had grown into their faces. Somebody's husband was telling a story about the year the science block flooded. Somebody else kept saying her name as if it were a question.

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Then Lorraine Dyke came across the parquet with her arms already open and said, "Maggie Pryce, you still have that cat?"

Margaret had not thought of Tibbles in thirty years. The cat belonged to the caretaker, Mr Hollis, who let it sleep in the boiler cupboard and let the girls sneak it biscuits at lunch. The summer before the fifth year, Margaret had gone in for the last time and found the cupboard empty, a saucer turned over on the concrete. Nobody ever said what happened to it. That night she drew its face on her own finger with her mother's eyeliner, and it took her the best part of a decade and a studio in Leeds to make the mark permanent.

"I've got a little one now," she said, and held up her hand. The whiskers ran across the knuckle of her index finger, three sweeps a side, with a nose like an upside-down heart. Lorraine laughed so hard she had to sit down on a plastic chair.

Later, in the car park, Margaret realised she had not wanted an apology from anyone. She had wanted someone else to remember the cat, and tonight someone had. She drove home with the window down and her finger resting on the wheel, the ink gone soft and grey in the streetlight.