Realism tattoo of a greyscale tiger head framed by pink, red and purple flowers and small blue butterflies on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Tiger head with watercolour flowers on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A greyscale tiger head faces forward at the centre of the design, with finely shaded fur and detailed eyes. Painterly red, pink and purple flowers and small blue butterflies surround the head, with colour fading softly at the edges. The tattoo sits on the outer upper arm and fills most of the frame against a plain skin background.

Realism Botanical Upper arm Tiger Flower Butterfly

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The fair had been in Sallow Cross eleven days when the tiger stopped eating, and the showman's daughter, Nell, went down to the bottom field with a basket of wallflowers because her mother said that was what you did for a sick thing. The tiger was called Rajah on the bills, but Nell called him Sunday, because he had come off the boat on a Sunday and had never once looked pleased about it.

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He lay in the straw with his chin on his paws and watched her work the flowers around the bars. Red poppies from the verge, a purple clematis someone had thrown over the hedge, pink campion from the lock. Blue butterflies came down out of the hawthorn and settled on the wire as if they had been invited. Her grandmother used to say a creature with flowers near it cannot be lonely for long, and the tiger sighed through his nose the way a man does at a joke he has heard before.

Then the travelling man came with the papers. The fair was leaving at dawn, the ground was sold, and Sunday was to go to a zoo in Leeds on the back of a lorry. Nell argued until the lamps went out. At last her father said the tiger could stay one more night if she could make him stand up, and she knelt by the bars and held out her hand with the flowers in it.

He rose slowly, shook out his grey stripes, and pushed his great head through the gap to take a poppy from her fingers. The lorry driver swore he had never seen a tiger take anything gently. By morning the flowers had wilted, but the butterflies had not gone, and they were still on the wire when the lorry pulled out, the way ink stays on blotting paper after the letter has gone.