Realism-style colour tattoo of a snarling black panther with yellow eyes and a curled tail, across the upper back near the shoulder blade.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Snarling black panther on upper back

Realism · Back · Colour · Photo

A large black panther is shown mid-stride in a snarling pose, with bared teeth, yellow eyes and long whiskers. The shading is smooth and detailed, with deep blacks blended into blues and purples that give the cat a glossy, dimensional look. The tattoo fills the upper back, with the tail curling out towards the shoulder.

Realism Back Panther Big cat Snarl Tail Whiskers

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

By the time the fairground lorry had its doors open, half of Chapel Row was out in its dressing gowns, pointing at the hedge. The Ferrante show had lost its black panther in the night, and the lad sent to feed it was sitting on the verge with a bucket of offal, crying.

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I heard about it first on the night board at the exchange. Calls came in from the doctor, the grocer, and a woman certain she had seen a shadow the size of a pony crossing the allotments. Each time I plugged one through, the line hissed like a kettle thinking about boiling.

I found it at half past two on the old tow path by the mill, lying flat on the cinders with its chin on its paws. In the lamplight its coat was not black at all but a deep, wet blue, with purple running along the ribs like oil on a puddle, and its eyes were the colour of weak tea held to a window. When I stopped, it lifted its lip and showed me every tooth it owned. I told it I was not the dogs, that I had been up since six, and that it was welcome to be as cross as it liked, so long as it pointed the cross elsewhere.

It rose slowly, let its long tail unfurl behind like a question, and walked beside me all the way back to the field, close enough that I felt the heat off its flank. The lad was asleep against a wheel with the bucket in his lap. The panther climbed the ramp without being asked, and the doors shut on a sound that was almost a purr. Next morning Mr Ferrante pressed a shilling and a paper bag of barley sugar into my hand, and I never told the supervisor why the last call on my board had been one long, unhappy hiss.