Realism colour tattoo on a forearm of a young child resting their chin on their hands beside a tabby cat, with a few older tattoos at the top edge of the arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic child and tabby cat on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A young child peers over a ledge with their chin resting on folded hands, while a grey tabby cat rests its paws beside them on the right. The shading is smooth and detailed, with soft warm skin tones, dark hair and fine highlights in the eyes and fur. The dark background and rounded edge of the forearm frame the scene, and a blurred green backdrop sits behind the arm.

Realism Forearm Child Cat Tabby cat Hand Portrait

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The landlady's rules were pinned inside the wardrobe door, and you had read them twice before the gulls started. Breakfast ended at nine. Guests were not to lean from the upper windows. Mrs Pargeter had painted the sills herself the summer her husband went to sea, and the paint still came off on your sleeve when you climbed up to look at the harbour.

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The child on the back stairs belonged to nobody in particular. Tamsin was five, and she kept a grey tabby called Admiral, who went where he liked and came home with fish heads in his whiskers. Every evening she sat on the bottom step with her chin on her folded hands, watching the front door as though a boat might come up the path with her father in it. You told her the Admiral was a better sailor than any of them. She told you he was not allowed on boats.

On the third night the tide came in fast over the breakwater and the lights in the town went out one by one. You heard Tamsin before you saw her, a small voice on the landing asking for the cat. The landing window was open. Admiral had his front paws on the sill, tail stiff, staring at the black water where something pale was knocking against the steps. You caught him by the scruff, which he hated, and pulled him in. Tamsin's hands stayed flat on the ledge until you lifted them away.

In the morning Mrs Pargeter found the sash propped with a shoe and said nothing about the rules. The pale thing was only a lobster pot buoy, painted white and red. Tamsin wore it on a string round her neck for the rest of the summer, and the Admiral sat on the sill beside her every evening as if he had never once wanted to go out.