Sunday Pups & Caturday Cats — The Scene Stealers

 

Hollywood has always insisted that the most prominent stars walk on two legs, sip Champagne, and know which fork to use. But occasionally, the real professionals show up on four legs, disregard the silverware entirely, and outperform everyone with a minimal amount of effort. This weekend, we're looking past the marquee names to acknowledge two of the industry’s finest specialists: a terrier with better timing than most leading men, and a ginger cat adept at stealing scenes—and likely any unattended snacks.

The Thin Man films are remembered for their breezy dialogue and the kind of flippant marital chemistry one only hopes to reenact at parties. William Powell and Myrna Loy make detective work look like a series of cocktail hours that get slightly interrupted by murder. But Asta, the wire fox terrier, operated on his own terms: impeccably trained, unflappable, and somehow always in the perfect spot for a reaction shot.

Asta—stage name for the far less glamorous “Skippy”—wasn’t just part of the scenery. He performed clean comedic business, took direction better than some studio heads, and managed to be likable without ever saying a word. Sure, he occasionally bit a co-star, but in his defense, he never missed a mark. Myrna Loy would affectionately give him a pat, probably aware that the dog was drawing audience attention even in the company of tailored gowns and well-delivered punchlines. The result was a trio that balanced out—two people carrying the dialogue, a dog carrying the audience.

Move along to Breakfast at Tiffany’s: Audrey Hepburn, pearls, and enough wistfulness for a decade of rainy afternoons. But the real emotional whiplash came courtesy of a ginger cat known both on and offscreen as “Cat”—and technically, Orangey, for anyone who stuck around for the credits.

Orangey didn’t earn two PATSY awards by accident. He was aluminum-foil-at-Thanksgiving-level reliable: would appear, disappear, do precisely what was required, and only occasionally request (or demand) a break. According to crew members, his demeanor could best be described as “selectively cooperative.” Some said he had “star temperament”; others just thought he understood contracts better than most.

The most memorable scene in the film—a soaked cat abandoned in an alley while Hepburn panics—is less a moment of pathos than proof that the audience will always root for a ginger tabby, even when Audrey Hepburn is standing right there. That the cat returns at the end is less about narrative closure and more about an animal recognizing professional obligations.

All things considered, Hollywood’s two-legged elite can keep their heartfelt speeches. The four-legged professionals have nothing to say—and still manage to get the last word. Powell and Loy brought wit, Hepburn brought poise, but it took a dog and a cat to quietly rearrange the focus of every scene they entered. Some careers are built on charisma. Others are built on showing up, performing, and going home for dinner right on time. No fanfare required.