Black and white photo of a woman seen from behind, with a small solid black silhouette of a cat with an arched back tattooed on her upper back near the shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small black cat tattoo on upper back

Back · Black and grey · Photo

A woman with dark hair is photographed from behind, wearing a black and white striped strapless top against a textured grey backdrop. A small solid black silhouette of a cat, with an arched back and raised tail, sits on her upper back near the shoulder blade. The image is monochrome with soft, selective lighting that keeps the focus on the tattoo and the bare skin of the back.

Back Cat Black cat Silhouette Animal

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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

The cat had already found the hole in the granary wall before I finished counting the sacks. She stood on the lintel with her back bowed like a bent reed and her tail lifted straight as a plumb line, staring at the dark corner where the overseer's nephew liked to sleep. I had been trying to make the numbers agree for three days. Hers agreed with the wall.

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My master had taught me that a scribe's ink is cheaper than a scribe's tongue, so I wrote nothing on the ostraca that morning. I made only the tally marks, one for each sack, and left gaps where the missing measures should have been. The cat, whose name was Ankhet and who had come to our house as a kitten from a priest who swore she was sacred, walked along the rim of the roof and dropped into the yard without a sound.

That evening the overseer came with lamps and a clerk and asked to see the books. I laid them out. Ankhet sat on the lowest sack with her tail wrapped neatly around her feet and watched the nephew's sandals come nearer, slowly, stopping where the sacks were thinnest. He laughed too loudly. The cat did not blink. When they lifted the sack beneath him, a clay jar heavy with stolen barley rolled out and cracked at the clerk's feet.

I kept a shard of that jar in my writing box for years. Ankhet still sleeps on the sacks, and when I count them now I begin with her, because she has never once been wrong about the weight.