Honestly, if you ask most people who the first real cartoon star was, they’ll probably say Mickey Mouse. They’d be wrong. Nearly a decade before a certain mouse whistled on a steamboat, a black cat with a wide grin and a "magic bag of tricks" was already a global phenomenon. But the story of Pat Sullivan and Felix the Cat isn't just a fun piece of film history. It’s a gritty, complicated, and sometimes dark tale of stolen credit, legal battles, and a studio head who might have been more of a promoter than a creator.
You've likely seen the cat’s face on a clock or a vintage t-shirt. He’s iconic. But behind that silhouette lies one of the biggest "he-said, he-said" disputes in Hollywood history.
The 1919 Birth of a Legend
It all started in a cramped New York studio in 1919. A short film titled Feline Follies introduced a character named Master Tom. He was scrawny, angular, and basically a prototype. By the third film, The Adventures of Felix, the name had stuck.
Pat Sullivan, an Australian-born cartoonist and entrepreneur, owned the studio. For decades, he was the only name the public associated with the cat. He did the interviews. He signed the autographs. He told everyone who would listen that he’d been inspired by a stray cat his wife brought home, or sometimes by Rudyard Kipling’s stories. He even claimed he named the character after "Australia Felix."
But there’s a catch. A big one.
While Sullivan’s name was on the door, the man actually holding the pen for most of those early years was a quiet New Jersey animator named Otto Messmer.
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The Controversy: Sullivan vs. Messmer
Here’s where things get kinda messy. Messmer was Sullivan’s lead animator, and for years, he stayed in the shadows while Sullivan took all the glory. It wasn't until after Sullivan died in 1933 that the truth started to leak out.
Messmer eventually claimed that he was the one who actually designed the cat and directed the films. He said he based Felix's personality on Charlie Chaplin—the pensive pacing, the hands behind the back, the resourceful "tramp" energy.
- The Case for Messmer: Most animation historians, including big names like Leonard Maltin and Jerry Beck, side with Messmer. They point out that Sullivan’s own drawing style was vastly different from the fluid, expressive animation seen in the Felix shorts.
- The Case for Sullivan: Some Australian historians argue that Sullivan was more involved than he gets credit for today. They’ve pointed to lettering in the early cartoons that matches Sullivan’s handwriting. They also argue that Sullivan’s genius was in the business—he was the one who realized that a cartoon character could be a brand.
Basically, Sullivan was the Steve Jobs to Messmer’s Steve Wozniak. One provided the technical and creative soul, while the other knew how to sell it to the world.
Why Felix the Cat Changed Everything
Before Felix, cartoons were mostly just "moving drawings"—gag-heavy shorts that didn't have much personality. Felix was different. He was the first character to actually think on screen. When he got into a jam, you’d see him pace back and forth, a question mark literally appearing over his head.
He was also the first character to be mass-merchandised. We’re talking dolls, ceramics, sheet music, and even being used as the first-ever image transmitted over television during RCA’s early tests in the late 1920s.
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By the mid-1920s, Felix was a titan. He was the face of Paramount Pictures' animation arm. But success breeds imitators. A young, ambitious animator named Walt Disney was watching closely. Disney’s first successful character, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (and later Mickey Mouse), clearly took "inspiration" from the round-headed, big-eyed design that Messmer and another Sullivan animator, Bill Nolan, had perfected.
The Tragic Fall of the Sullivan Studio
You’d think the studio would have lasted forever, but Sullivan made a fatal mistake: he resisted sound.
When The Jazz Singer changed movies in 1927, and Mickey Mouse debuted with synchronized sound in Steamboat Willie in 1928, Sullivan dug his heels in. He thought sound was a fad. By the time he realized he was wrong, it was too late. He tried to "retrofit" old silent cartoons with sound, but they felt clunky and cheap compared to Disney’s polished productions.
Sullivan’s personal life was also spiraling. After his wife, Marjorie, died in 1932, he fell into a deep, alcohol-fueled depression. He died just a year later at the age of 47. Without his promotional fire, the studio collapsed, and Felix essentially vanished from the big screen for years.
The Long Legacy of a Black Cat
Felix didn't stay dead, though. In the 1950s, Joe Oriolo—an animator who had worked on the Felix comic strips—reimagined the character for television. This is the version many Gen X-ers and Boomers remember. He gave Felix the "Magic Bag of Tricks" and a cast of weird villains like the Professor and Rock Bottom.
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While that version was more "kiddie" than the sophisticated, surreal silents of the 1920s, it kept the character alive. Today, DreamWorks (under NBCUniversal) owns the rights, and you can still find Felix's face on high-end fashion collaborations and streetwear.
Actionable Insights for Animation Fans and Historians
If you want to truly appreciate the work of Pat Sullivan and Felix the Cat, don't just look at the merchandise. Here is how you can actually dive into this history:
- Watch the Silent Era Shorts: Look for Felix in Hollywood (1923). It’s a masterpiece of meta-commentary where Felix interacts with caricatures of real-life stars like Douglas Fairbanks and Will Hays. It shows the sheer creativity Messmer brought to the table.
- Compare the Design Evolution: Check out the difference between the 1919 Feline Follies and the 1924 films. You can see the moment Bill Nolan "rounded" the character, making him more "cute" and marketable—a design language that still dominates animation today.
- Visit Animation Archives: If you’re ever in New York or Los Angeles, museums like MoMA or the Academy Museum often have original cels and storyboards that show the actual handiwork of Messmer and the Sullivan crew.
The battle over who "created" Felix will probably never be settled to everyone's satisfaction. But whether it was Sullivan’s business grit or Messmer’s artistic soul, the result was a character that proved animation wasn't just for kids—it was a new form of magic that could capture the entire world's imagination.
To get the most out of your research, start by comparing the early 1920s "personality animation" of Messmer to the more rigid works of the same era. You'll quickly see why Felix was lightyears ahead of his time. Afterward, look into the 1950s Joe Oriolo transition to see how a character survives the death of its original studio.