Black ink drawing of a cat's head with pointed ears and a white muzzle, filled with geometric hatching and suited to a design for a tattoo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Geometric cat head drawing

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A cat's head faces the viewer, with pointed ears, narrowed eyes and a white muzzle and nose. The fur is built from dense black linework and angular hatching patterns, with lighter areas left as bare white paper. The drawing is centred on a plain white background and uses only black ink and greys.

Geometric Cat Cat head Animal Hatching Whiskers

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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

Shift up, and mind the chair with the bad leg, because I'm going to tell you about the cat under the stage at the Majestic Ballroom, and I'll have no one laughing before the end. Every Saturday from the summer of fifty-two, a grey tom with a ruff like a bramble hedge sat in the gap beneath the bandstand and watched the dancers the way a magistrate watches a man in the dock. Nobody owned him. The doorman called him Sergeant, the girls in the cloakroom called him Mister Lyle, and he answered to neither.

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Ruby Feeney came in every week for the foxtrot and never once took her eyes off the floor. She had a partner called Dennis who trod on her hem and apologised to the cat instead of to her. The cat did not care for Dennis. When the band struck up the last waltz, the cat would climb out from under the boards, sit on the edge of the stage, and narrow his eyes until Dennis lost his nerve and stepped away.

On the last night before the hall was pulled down, Ruby found the cat waiting by the cloakroom with her good gloves in his mouth. He dropped them at her feet with the air of a man presenting a bill. Behind the stage, pinned to a nail, she found a sheet of squared paper covered in lines, every hair of him worked out in hatching, as careful as a tailor's pattern. She folded it into her purse and never told Dennis. By morning the cat was gone, and the demolition men swore the hall had been empty for years.

Ruby kept that sheet until the day she died. Her grandson says the lines on it still shift when the wireless plays a waltz, and that Dennis, now married to a widow with three sons, still apologises to the furniture.