Black and grey realism style tattoo of a cat's head, looking downward, on the inner forearm of a person wearing a rolled plaid shirt.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small cat head tattoo on a forearm

Realism · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of a cat's head, shown in profile with its gaze angled downward, sits on the inner forearm. The ears and striped fur are rendered with soft grey shading and fine detail around the eye. The photograph is taken at a close angle, with the plaid shirt sleeve rolled above the tattoo and a denim waistband visible below.

Realism Forearm Cat Animal Portrait

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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 closer, you, where the stove throws its heat. The cat on the Dorothy Ann never once looked up at a bird in all her nine years aboard. She looked down, always down, at the black water sliding under the hull, as if the cut had written a question on its bottom and she meant to read the answer before anyone else did. Nan Pritchard called her Sixpence, because she was grey as an old coin and just as hard to spend.

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The winter the Wrenfield cut froze solid, we were iced in below Harrow Lock with the boats nosed together like sheep in the rain. Young Tom Harrod from the narrowboat behind us went out across the ice to fetch his dog, and the skin of it gave way without a sound. The men were shouting and running in their boots, and nobody knew which hole he had gone through. Sixpence came down off the coal sacks, walked the gunwale to the very edge, and stared at one dark patch of water for the length of a held breath. Then she sat, and she looked, and Nan said, There. Go there.

They pulled him out by the collar and the wrist, blue and furious and alive. Nan never let anyone call it luck. She said the cat had only been doing what she always did, watching the water for the thing under it that the rest of us were too busy looking past. Sixpence is buried under the willow at the top lock now. Nan went after her, and the barge went to Tom Harrod, who keeps a grey cat of his own and has never once let it near the ice.