Green tribal-style line drawing of a cat face with swirling bold strokes, shown as a flat design on a white background.

Tribal cat face design

Traditional · Colour · Flash

A cat face drawn in a bold tribal style, with pointed ears, large round eyes, a small triangular nose and a curved mouth line. The design is built from thick, tapering green strokes that flow into the fur on the cheeks and chin, with no shading. It is a single solid colour on a plain white background, with the composition centred and filling the frame.

Traditional Cat Cat face Tribal

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cat came out of Hollin Wood the evening my brother lost a wheel on the stile, and it sat on the gatepost as though it had been sent to supervise. Nobody in Ashcombe owned a cat that colour. It was the green of wet moss under a hedge, and its fur ran in long tapering blades, sharp at every tip, so that from the lane it looked less like an animal than a thing cut from ivy leaves and left to dry on a wall.

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Mother said the wood was older than the parish and kept its own accounts. She set a saucer of milk on the step each night after that, and each morning the saucer was licked clean and a new strip of bark had been laid across the stile, folded neatly like a letter. I took it for a joke someone was playing on me until I saw the cat watching the lane for the carter, its ears turned up like two lanterns when his cart came round the bend.

The autumn the lane flooded, I followed it into the trees with a lamp. The path bent and doubled under the oaks until I stood in a clearing where every trunk was scored with the same long, curling marks I had seen on its fur. At the root of the largest oak lay a small green stone, warm from the afternoon sun, and I put it in my coat pocket without thinking why.

The cat was waiting at my gate when I came back, dry as a cupboard, washing its face with one careful paw. I set the stone on the gatepost beside it. In the morning the stone was gone and the bark letter was back on the step, and folded inside it, pressed in green that smelt of crushed moss, was a single blade of fur, sharp at one end, which I keep in my apron pocket and have never once been able to throw away.