Fine line black tattoo of a sitting cat with its tail curling into a heart and a trail of paw prints on the calf, shown as a matching pair.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Matching cat and paw print calf tattoos

Fine line · Calf · Black and grey · Photo

Two matching tattoos sit on the lower legs, each showing a sitting cat in simple black outline with its tail curling up into a heart shape. A trail of small paw prints rises from the cat towards the upper calf. The linework is thin and even with no shading or colour, and the photo shows wooden flooring and a white wall behind the legs.

Fine line Calf Cat Paw print Heart Tail Matching

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

Nobody at the Palais knew whose cat it was. It came in through the fire door on Saturdays, picked its way between the brogues and the bright kitten heels, and sat down under the bandstand as if it had paid. Bette said a cat that crossed a dance floor was a sign, though she never agreed on what sign. I only cared that it kept time with the drummer, its tail flicking up at the top of every bar.

Keep reading

The night the trouble started, Bette and I had been stood up twice by the same two lads from the bakery. We were dusting our shoes with French chalk in the ladies' room when we saw small grey prints across the boards, pressed white with powder, leading from the stage steps towards the cloakroom. Bette wanted to follow them. I wanted a foxtrot. We followed them.

They led us behind the coat rails to a loose board the cat had been scratching at all evening. Underneath lay a biscuit tin with a bundle of letters tied in string, addressed in faded pencil to a Mrs Hilda Crane, care of the hall, and dated 1931. Someone had been meant to collect them and never had. We read them on the back stairs with our fingers cold, and by the last one Bette was laughing and crying at once.

When we went back in, the band had slowed to a waltz. The cat sat alone in the middle of the empty floor with its tail curled round its feet into a neat heart, and we danced around it until the lights came up. We never found Hilda Crane. But every Saturday after that, Bette and I left the middle of the floor clear for the cat, and it never once missed a step.