Fine line pen drawing of a lynx head with amber eyes and detailed fur on a white background, shown as a tattoo design without any body placement.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Lynx head design

Fine line · Mixed · Flash

A front-facing lynx head with pointed ear tufts, a black nose and a detailed mane of fur strokes. The linework is fine and dense, with some hatched shading along the cheeks and brow. The eyes are filled with orange-amber colour, while the rest of the drawing is in black ink on white paper.

Fine line Cat Animal Eye Portrait

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

Morag had counted the boats in before the light went, the way her father had taught her, and the count came to six. The seventh, the Ailsa, had not come round the point. Out past the breakwater the sea lay flat as pewter and the gulls had gone quiet, which in Ardcraig meant weather coming down from the north-west.

Keep reading

She climbed the wall above the harbour, where the fish-market lads threw their gutting scraps, and there on the slate roof of the net loft sat a lynx. It had come down from the pine woods on the ridge, its tufted ears flat against the wind, and its eyes were the colour of the brass lamp in the Ailsa's wheelhouse. Nobody in the village had seen one since her grandfather was a boy. It looked at her the way the skipper's dog used to study the tide tables, as if she were something it had been expecting.

The lynx turned and went along the ridge of the roof towards the slipway, stopping every few yards to look back. Morag followed, boots skidding on wet tar, past the ice house and the lobster pots stacked like cages. At the end of the slipway the Ailsa's dinghy was snagged on a rock with its oars drifting away, and a figure in oilskins was lifting one arm slowly above the water, not calling out, saving his breath.

She got the dinghy in with the gaff while the lynx sat on the bollard watching the sea, until the Ailsa's engine coughed round the point, low in the water but whole. Her father stepped onto the quay, shook the rain from his cap and asked who had let the cat out. She told him it had brought them home. He laughed and said the weather would turn by morning. It did. By dawn the bollard was bare except for a single grey tuft caught on the rope.