Small black fine line tattoo of a sitting cat with a curled tail, placed on the ankle.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sitting cat tattoo on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo shows a cat seen in profile, sitting upright with pointed ears, a head turned to the left and a long tail curling at its base. The design is drawn in a thin, even black line, with a few short interior strokes defining the face and body. Only black ink is visible against pale skin, with a green wall and a dark purple surface behind the leg.

Fine line Ankle Cat Sitting cat Tail Line art Silhouette

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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 yourself down on the bench by the range, where the heat gets into your bones. You'll have heard the cook on the Margaret Ann kept a cat, and that's true enough, but you'll not have heard how she came aboard. She was a grey thing nobody owned, sitting on the quay at Shields with her back to the wind and her face turned to the water, as if someone had left her in charge of it.

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Hob Tanner took her on for the mice, which were thick in the bread store that winter. She never once touched the bread. She'd sit on the galley step, upright as a lamp post, head turned to the left toward the sea hatch, and she watched that hatch the way a clock watches the hour. The mate called it unlucky. Hob said a cat watching a hatch was only doing her job.

Then came the blow off Cape Finisterre, the one that tore the sea hatch off its hinges. The crew were down in the forepeak with the lamps swinging. Hob was at the range with a pot of scorched porridge when he looked up and saw the step empty, the cat already gone through the gap and up the ladder, tail curled tight like a question mark. A cook doesn't leave a lit fire, so he swore and went after her, and that was the only reason he was on deck when the wave came over the rail.

They found him clinging to a stanchion with the cat wedged in the crook of his arm, both of them soaked and furious. She never sat on that galley step again. She took up a post by the wheel instead, facing the water, and she stayed there until the day they came up the Tyne, as if she still had a hatch to mind.