Small solid black paw print tattoo on the side of a finger, shown in a black and white photo.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Small paw print tattoo on a finger

Hand · Black and grey · Photo

A small, solid black paw print sits on the side of a finger, with four toe pads and a main pad shown as simple filled shapes. The ink is dense and the edges are crisp, with no shading or colour. The hand fills the foreground against a softly blurred dark background, with the tattoo placed near the centre of the frame.

Hand Paw print Animal Paw

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

Ada Penhallow had been scrubbing tar off the cabin step for an hour when Mabel came down the gangway with her tail up, as if she owned the Nell Rose, the river and the lock-keeper's bench besides. The cat stopped at the edge of the black patch, considered it, and put one foot straight in.

Keep reading

"Oh, you daft article," Ada said. "Come off that."

Mabel did not come off that. She walked the length of the roof, leaving a neat row of dark pads on the varnished hatch, then dropped onto the towpath and trotted through the puddle by the rope bollard. By the time the barge drifted into the lock at Hythe Bridge, the cat had printed every surface between the tiller and the bow, and Ada had a manifest to deliver to Tobias Greave, who had never once been seen to smile.

The manifest lay on the cabin table, drying in the grey light. Ada reached for it and saw four little toes stamped across the figures for the coal, the cement and the three crates of Dutch clay. She could still read the total well enough. Greave would not be able to. She sat for a long moment with the pen in her hand, then went out on deck and called the cat's name across the water.

Mabel came back, sat on the ledger as though she had paid the freight herself, and went to sleep with one black paw curled over the sum. Greave arrived at noon, squinted at the page, and asked what on earth had happened to his figures. Ada told him the truth. For once, he laughed, a short, rusty sound that startled the herons off the reeds.