Realism colour tattoo of the Cheshire Cat grinning with bright green eyes and a blue background, on the thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cheshire Cat grin on a thigh

Realism · Thigh · Colour · Photo

The tattoo shows the Cheshire Cat's head, with a wide toothy grin, pointed ears and bright green eyes looking straight out at the viewer. Fine fur texture is built up with soft shading in teal, grey and green. A dark blue and black smoky background surrounds the head and fills the rest of the frame, and the skin tone is seen through the gaps around the design.

Realism Thigh Cheshire cat Cat Eye Smile Teeth Fur

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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

Mind the stile, it's rotten at the second step, and sit where the moss is dry. Right, you want the one about the cat in Greaves Wood, the one that wouldn't leave. My gran swore it was true, and she never once told a lie she could be bothered to finish.

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Everyone in Little Holm knew the cat by its teeth before anything else. It came out of the bramble hedge the spring the mill burned, sat on the wall by the ford and grinned at whoever passed, green-eyed and fat on the blackberries it stole. Folk tried to shoo it. Old Ansel Pugh threw a boot at it and the boot came back to him with its laces knotted, and the cat was still sat on the wall, grinning wider. You couldn't stare it down. It always had the last look.

Then came the winter the miller's girl, Wenna, went into the wood after her goat and didn't come out. Three days the men beat the trees. On the fourth morning the cat was on the gatepost, and it said, plain as you or me, that Wenna was sat in the hollow beneath the oak, warm as toast, and would be home by supper if someone was daft enough to fetch her. Nobody believed a grin. Ansel went anyway, and found her there, just as the cat had said.

That's the story they tell, and the trick of it is this. When Wenna grew old and died in her bed, the cat was not on the wall at the funeral. Only the grin was. It hung in the mill window, painted on the shutter by no hand anyone could name, teeth first, eyes green as cress. Whenever someone in Little Holm tells a lie they can't finish, the shutter creaks. Mind yourself. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the goat.