Black and grey realism tattoo of a tabby cat's face on a forearm, held up beside a real tabby cat being carried by the body.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realism cat portrait tattoo on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey realistic tattoo of a cat's face sits on the forearm of a person whose hand supports a real tabby cat hanging in front of them. The tattoo uses soft shading and fine fur detail, with the eyes and nose rendered in sharp contrast. The composition places the tattoo and the live cat side by side, with a dark background and a partly visible graphic t-shirt.

Realism Forearm Cat Tabby cat Animal portrait

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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

Sit down, the lot of you, before the custard sets. Forty years since we left Ashgrove Secondary and not one of you has learned to look sorry for anything. Right. You'll all remember the cat. Grey-brown tabby, torn left ear, a face like a magistrate who has just heard the defence. He came in through the boiler room grating every morning and sat on Mrs Halloran's desk as though the job had been advertised with him in mind.

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Nobody owned him. We called him Sergeant, because he inspected the register each morning with his tail held straight up. In the spring of the fire drill, when the bell went and four hundred of us stood in the rain on the playing field, the Sergeant was the only one who never moved. He sat on the bottom step of the science block and watched the windows, as if he'd been expecting this all along.

Here's what I never told Mr Sayer. The smoke was only a kettle left boiling in the staffroom. But Tommy Price had skipped the drill and was hiding in the cloakroom, crying over a letter about his dad, and nobody had counted him. The Sergeant came padding down the corridor against the crowd, sat in front of the cloakroom door and would not leave until Tommy came out and followed him by the sleeve.

So raise a glass to the Sergeant, who never asked anybody for a thing in his life. He's been dead since the nineties, I know that, but I'd bet my pension he's sitting on that bottom step right now, looking at the lot of us as though we still owe him a biscuit.