Fine line tattoo of a cat outline on the inner wrist and forearm, drawn in thin dark grey ink.

Fine line cat outline on wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small single-line outline of a cat, with pointed ears and a curled tail, sits on the inner wrist and lower forearm. The linework is thin and mostly unshaded, with slight variation in line weight. The ink is a muted grey-brown against pale skin, and the tattoo is placed off-centre on a plain, light background.

Fine line Forearm Cat Animal Outline

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

The cat has been sitting on the hall windowsill since before you arrived, and Mrs Pascoe insists it was never hers. "It came with the house," she says, the same way she says the damp came with the house and the boiler bill came with it too. You have been at Harbour View for eleven days, long enough to learn that the cat, grey and thin as a coat hanger, slips out through the scullery window at six each morning and is back before the milk van.

Keep reading

One morning you follow it. It keeps to the wall of the lane, past the chandler's with its blind still down, and drops onto the shingle where the tide is pulling off the ribbed sand. Its tail stays curled around its feet like a question mark. It stops at the end of the harbour wall and watches a man mending a net on an upturned crate, and it does not look at you once, which you take as the cat's way of being polite.

The net-mender does not look up either. "Brother's," he says, nodding at the cat. "Went out off the Dunmore rocks the winter before last. This one sat on his step for a month after and then walked up the lane to the nearest door with a fire lit behind it." He pulls a knot tight with his teeth. "Doesn't care whose house it is, so long as it's warm."

When you climb back up, the cat goes ahead, pointed ears turning at every gull. At the scullery window it pauses, looks back at you over one shoulder, and waits. You have no fish. You go in and find a saucer, and by the time the kettle is on the cat is already inside, sitting on the warm sill as if it had been there all along.