Colourful watercolour-style tattoo of a cat face with turquoise eyes on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Watercolour cat face tattoo

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A cat's face with turquoise eyes, whiskers and bold black markings sits at the centre of the image. The linework is loose and broken, with the black strokes fading into splashes of pink, orange, yellow, purple and green. The tattoo fills most of the frame against a blurred blue and green background.

Forearm Cat Cat face Whiskers Eye Splash

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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

Hush now, and keep your hands under the awning, because the rain on this market always wants to be somebody's paint. You see the dye-stall at the end, where Ada Penhallow sold her bolts of silk before the river took the lower lane? Every Thursday her old pot of ochre sat by the trestle leg, and every Thursday the grey cat from the bakery came padding through the puddles to sit in it.

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The cat was called Sorrel, though the baker swore she was never his. She'd wade through the pinks and marigold yellows, then the bruised purples from the violet vats, and come out with her paws printed like a fox's on fresh snow. Ada liked to say the cat was painting the town and nobody had asked her to. Children trailed after her with their mouths open, waiting for the colours to run off her fur and make a rainbow on the setts.

One wet afternoon the sky went green at the edges and the traders ran for cover, leaving the vats uncovered. Sorrel leapt onto the trestle, knocked the lids clean off, and rolled. When she stood up her face was all splashes, black stripes bleeding out into orange and sea-blue, but her eyes stayed the turquoise they had always been, the colour of the glass bottles Ada kept on the windowsill.

The rain came down hard after that and washed the whole market into the gutters, every pink and green running towards the drain. But Sorrel sat on the wet step, watching them go, and when the stalls were packed away the cobbles showed one clean paw print, bright as a lamp, that the water could not lift. Ada never scrubbed it. She said some things are only meant to stay where they were stepped.