Black and grey Cheshire Cat face tattoo with blue eyes and realistic shading, beside handwritten script on the inner forearm.

Cheshire Cat face and script on forearm

Realism · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A collage of three close-up photographs shows a realistic Cheshire Cat face with a wide grin, blue eyes and soft grey shading. A line of cursive script reads I'm not crazy, my reality is just different than yours, running beside the cat on the inner forearm. The ink is mainly black and grey with blue accents in the eyes, and the pale skin and plain background keep the focus on the design.

Realism Lettering Forearm Cheshire cat Cat Face Eye Smile Script Quote

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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

Mrs Pennock had run the sorting office in Hadley Cross for thirty-one years, and in all that time no cat had ever grinned at her from behind the parcel shelf. So when the grin arrived on Tuesday, two bright eyes floating above the pigeonholes with no body to speak of, she did what she always did with a misdirected item. She counted the letters again.

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Fourteen. The grin looked pleased with her arithmetic. "You have fifteen," it said, in the voice of someone reading aloud from a book they half remembered.

"You're mad," she said, because the village had said it of her sister years back and it had stuck like wet paper to a boot. The grin widened until the shelves seemed to bend around it. "I'm not crazy," it said. "My reality is just different than yours." Then it slid out through the back door, and she followed, because a sorting clerk does not leave a stray in the back room.

The lane outside had turned itself the wrong way up. Hedges hung from the sky like bunting, and the pillar box at the crossroads dripped letters into the puddles. Lying face up in the water was a envelope addressed in careful copperplate to Mrs Pennock, Sorting Office, Hadley Cross, and postmarked forty years on. She fished it out with two fingers. Inside was a single line: Keep counting.

Back at the counter, she counted again. Fifteen. The extra envelope was addressed to the cat, care of her, and beneath the grin, in ink the colour of a midnight sky, someone had written a signature she did not need to read twice. She stamped it, logged it, and signed for it herself.