Tattoo artist Joe Shupp held the buzzing needle above the wrist of Maya Vasquez-Cole.
"It feels kind of like a hot scratch," he advised.
The 18-year-old University of Baltimore student had chosen a turtle for her left wrist. Now she set her face.
"I have a slightly low tolerance for pain," she said.
More than a hundred people lined up at the Baltimore Tattoo Museum in Little Italy Sunday afternoon to get inked for a cause: BARCS, the city's nonprofit animal shelter.
Customers crowded the museum and shop for "Tats for Tails"; the line went out the door and down the block. Organizers said all the money would go to BARCS.
"This is just crazy," said Mindy FitzGerald, a BARCS volunteer who has a tattoo of the one-eyed cat she rescued from the city streets.
Lola never grew more than seven pounds.
"My soulmate," FitzGerald said.
She was urging the crowd to pick from a panel of designs. Too many people had come for intricate, custom tattoos by the artists, who donated their time.
The museum owner, Chris Keaton, called in three more artists. The busiest day he ever saw was last year's "Tats for Tails," when he personally inked 16 tattoos.
Sunday, he said, would surpass that peak.
"It has never been like this," said Keaton, who has a tattoo on his right calf for the miniature pinscher he named Thor. His tattooed left elbow memorialized Spots, his departed Jack Russell Terrier.
The small tattoos cost about $50. Artists offered stalking cats and bones and paw prints, a kitten in a paper bag, a jowly bulldog in a newsboy cap.
BARCS, the city's shelter just south of M&T Bank Stadium, takes in more than 11,000 unwanted, stray and abused animals a year — mostly cats and dogs, plenty of pit bulls, occasionally a python, goat or chicken. Once, a cow.
Money from the tattoos will pay for medical care and food for the animals, FitzGerald said. Volunteers hope to rehabilitate and adopt out all the animals, but some are euthanized because of overcrowding.
A black-and-white cat named Bonkers, who might or might not think he's a dog, lives with Vasquez-Cole near Catonsville. Bonkers was adopted from BARCS and purrs for table scraps, especially pizza.
Beneath the needle, Vasquez-Cole grew tense. She closed and opened her eyes. She held her breath.
"If you need a break, just let me know," Shupp said. He lived in Ellicott City with two rabbits until last week. Felix died, leaving only Cornelia.
Shupp is considering a Felix tattoo.
His needle buzzing, he traced the quarter-sized turtle. Finished, he wiped clean her wrist of smeared ink.
The turtle outline was sharp and black. "I like it," Vasquez-Cole said. In folk art, turtles symbolize protection.
Shupp looked closer and again lowered his needle. "A couple little spots to fill."
She leaned back and softly groaned.
