Colour realism tattoo of a Siamese cat with blue eyes framed by red peony flowers and green leaves on an upper arm, shown in a full view and a close-up.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Siamese cat and peonies on an arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A Siamese cat with striking blue eyes and whiskers fills the centre of the design, framed by red and coral peony-style flowers with green leaves above and below. The cat is shaded with smooth black and brown tones, while the flowers use bold dark outlines and bright, flat colour fills. The left panel shows the full piece on a limb and the right panel is a close-up of the cat's face and the flowers.

Realism Neo-trad Botanical Upper arm Cat Peony Flower Leaves Blue eye Whiskers

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mind the step, it's been loose since the flood, and sit where the mirror ball can reach you. You'll want to hear about Mrs Ada Pell's cat, because everyone on Hallow Street knows about the cat, and most will tell you she kept the Peony Rooms open through the war. Nobody ever agreed on her name. Ada called her Duchess, the dockers called her the Lamp, on account of those blue eyes that glowed when the blackout went on and the bulbs were dimmed to nothing.

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She arrived off a Liverpool boat in a wicker basket with a ship's label still tied to her collar, and she never once asked permission to climb anywhere. She'd sit on the lid of the upright piano during the Tuesday waltzes, tail curled over the keys, and the band would play the slow ones just for her. Ada's brother had painted the peonies on the back wall that spring, red and coral with leaves as dark as bottle glass, and the cat would sit beneath them as if she'd commissioned the lot. When the sirens went, she walked the edge of the bar where the plaster had cracked, and somehow the cracks never widened past that line.

Then came the rent man, a thin fellow with a leather folder and a notice that said the building was to be shut for good. He set the folder on the bar and opened it, and the Duchess stepped onto it, one white paw at a time, until every page lay under her. He tried to lift her off and she stared at him with those lamp-lit eyes, unblinking, and he sat down on a stool without quite meaning to. Ada poured him a brandy. He drank it, folded the notice into quarters, and put it in his breast pocket where a man keeps a letter from someone he won't see again.

So if you come in on a Tuesday, you'll find the flowers on the wall look freshly painted, though nobody has touched them in forty years. Finish your drink. The band is coming back up, and she'll want the piano clear.