Photograph of a realistic colour tattoo of a Siamese cat with blue eyes on a forearm, shown in two side-by-side close-up views.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Realistic Siamese cat on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Colour · Photo

A photorealistic tattoo of a seated Siamese cat with dark brown points, pale tan fur, whiskers and striking blue eyes, shown in two side-by-side close-up views. Soft fur texture is built up through fine shading and highlights, with the cat's face and chest given the most detail. Warm browns and black dominate, with small areas of blue in the eyes, and the cat fills the frame against a plain grey background.

Realism Forearm Cat Animal Portrait Whiskers

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

The Palais on a Friday smells of Brylcreem, wet wool and the lemonade they pour from the big glass jug, and you have spent six winters in the cloakroom watching other people's feet. Mrs Okonedo hands you the ticket book and tells you the cat is back under the bandstand again. Nobody owns it. It arrived the spring the ballroom reopened, a Siamese with dark points and a face like a disappointed magistrate, and it sits where the light from the stage falls, blinking those pale blue eyes at the couples as if it is grading them.

Keep reading

Tonight it is watching Ray Dunmore. He has danced every number with June's younger sister, Pearl, and each time the band swings into the chorus he steers her past the pillar where June stands in her green frock. The cat follows them with its head, tail wrapped neatly around its feet, unblinking. When the trumpet fluffs its high note, the cat stands, stretches, and walks straight across the floor between Ray's brogues and Pearl's silver shoes, and the whole room, for one bar, stops to look at it.

You are the one who sees June's face go still. So you do the only thing a cloakroom girl can do: you lift the cat, warm and heavier than it looks, and carry it to the hatch. Then you take June's coat from its hook, hold it open, and tell her the cat has chosen which way the evening should go. She laughs, a short surprised sound, and walks out past the pillar without looking back at the floor.

The last waltz starts. Through the frosted door you watch Ray search the crowd for a way out, and find only the empty chair beside the bandstand, where the cat has left a single tuft of tan fur on the velvet, like a note.