Black and grey tattoo of an anthropomorphic cat in a top hat and monocle, smoking a cigar and holding a cane with a bird-head handle, on a lower leg.

Dapper cat in top hat and monocle on calf

Neo-trad · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

A cat dressed as a gentleman wears a top hat and monocle, smokes a cigar and holds a cane with a bird-head handle, all in a long coat and waistcoat. Smoke curls around the head and hand, and the shading is detailed and fairly realistic, with fine hatching on the fabric. The tattoo is entirely black and grey, and it is photographed on a lower leg against a paved ground with a person's shorts and trainers visible.

Neo-trad Calf Cat Top hat Monocle Smoke Bird Suit

Find an artist for this

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

Mr Lucan Pardoe had been waiting on the step of Halloran's Bakery since a quarter past four, his cane tapping the flagstones in the rhythm of a clock that had lost its nerve. His tail kept a slower time beneath the hem of his coat. Inside, Nell Halloran had the ovens roaring and the first bloomers out on the cooling racks, and she could see him through the glass, bolt upright under his top hat, his monocle catching the lamp over the door.

Keep reading

She drew the bolt at half past. "You're early, Mr Pardoe."

"I am never early, madam. I am merely unfashionably punctual." He stepped in, lowered his hat a fraction, and laid a coin on the counter, a real one, worn smooth at the edges. He wanted the heel of yesterday's rye and nothing else, always the heel, because he said the crust was where a loaf kept its opinions.

She wrapped it in brown paper. Beyond the window the street was still navy and the gulls had not yet started their argument. He lit a thin cigar with a match struck on the brass head of his cane, which was carved into a wren with its beak open, and the smoke drifted up past the glass in slow grey loops. "Your brother-in-law," he said, not quite a question. "Has he come back from the coast?"

"Not yet."

"Then he will come on the milk train. Trains are the only honest thing about this town." He tucked the parcel under his arm and touched the brim of his hat. At the door he paused, and for the first time in eleven years she saw him smile. "Keep the ovens warm, Nell. A man with a wren in his hand always knows when someone is coming home."