Small black ornamental cat tattoo with swirling curled tail on a person's lower stomach above light denim shorts.

Ornamental sitting cat on the stomach

Other · Black and grey · Photo

A small sitting cat with a curled tail and swirling decorative lines above its head is tattooed on the side of the lower stomach. The cat's body is filled with dark solid ink and fine patterned detail, with ornate curls across its chest and haunches. The image is black and grey, with the tattoo framed by a grey crop top, pale blue denim and a dark wall behind.

Other Cat Ornament Swirl Tail 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

Entry dated 3rd October. The wind has taken the last of the banners off the gatehouse, and the great hall roof is now just a sky with rafters. Cook says the cat came up the west stair in August and has not gone down since. We call her Sable, though her coat is more smoke than black, scored all over with fine patterns like frost on a window. Her ears are cut to points that seem to listen to the valley rather than to us.

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Yesterday the mason's boy came up from Thornby to measure the arch for the new lintel. He is afraid of heights and climbed only because I told him the cat would not wait for him. She sat on the broken corbel with her tail wound round her paws in a neat spiral and watched him with the patience of someone who has outlived three lords and four sieges. He asked whether she was a witch's cat. I said she was the castle's cat, which is the more dangerous thing to be.

When he had finished, he chalked the line where the new stone should sit. The cat climbed down the sill, walked the length of that line with great deliberation, and knocked the chalk to powder with one paw. Then she dropped into the nettles and was gone toward the moat. The mason says the mark was an inch out anyway. I have decided to believe the cat.

I will leave the lintel unset until she comes back to tell me otherwise. At dusk the shadow of her whiskers still falls across the wall, flaring out like the lines of a drawing nobody finished, and I have started leaving a saucer of mutton on the step.