Black and grey fine line tattoo of a simple cat face with pointed ears, almond eyes and whiskers, on the inner wrist.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Minimal cat face tattoo on the wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small black line drawing of a cat face, with two pointed ears, two almond-shaped eyes, a tiny triangular nose and three whiskers on each side. The linework is thin and even, with no shading, and the design is set against plain pale skin. The black and white photograph is taken from above, with the wrist filling the frame and tiles and foliage softly blurred behind.

Fine line Forearm Cat Cat face Whiskers Ear Eye

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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

The cat came back to the stile at Foxcote the morning after the thaw, as he always did, and sat with his tail wrapped round his paws until someone noticed him. That was Ada Pell's job, because she was the only one in the village who still walked the forest path before the milk cart. I was behind her with the bucket, grumbling about the wet, when she stopped so short I walked into her back.

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Pip was nobody's cat, the carter said, though he ate at four doors and slept at none of them. He had a face like a pen drawing, all sharp ear points and two narrow eyes and whiskers thin as wire, and folk said the forest had drawn him in one stroke and never lifted the nib. Ada crouched and held out a hand. Pip looked past her into the birches, then stood and walked off between the trunks without once looking back.

We followed him for an hour, which was foolish, since the ground under the oaks is soft and the bucket leaked the whole way. At a ring of stones where someone had cleared the moss long ago, he stopped beside a bundle of letters tied with string. They were addressed to every cottage along the lane, in a hand I knew: my mother's, who had gone into the trees the winter I was nine and never sent word. Ada read the top one aloud, and I heard my own name in it.

Pip hopped onto the highest stone and washed his face, as if he had only been waiting for someone to carry the post in. I took the bundle. When I turned round he had gone, and all that was left on the stone was four small wet prints, neat as the marks a nib leaves when it is lifted from the page.