"Another case closed," he told the tabby cat, who had followed him out. "And I only lost one shoe to a snapping turtle. Re-he-he-he-ally good day's work!"
"The stitching," Ace whispered to a stray tabby cat sitting on his lap. "It’s crying out in agony, mittens. That's not calfskin. That's... Boffo." subtitle Ace Ventura: Pet Detective
"Lovely evening for a sacrifice, isn't it?" Ace barked, leaning inches from the woman’s face. "Excuse me?" she recoiled. "Another case closed," he told the tabby cat,
"Alrighty then!" Ace shouted, diving over the beast. "Hardball it is!" "It’s crying out in agony, mittens
Ace Ventura sat in the back of a humid, neon-lit jazz club in New Orleans, nursing a bowl of sunflower seeds. He wasn’t there for the music; he was staring intently at a high-end alligator-skin handbag resting on the chair of a local socialite.
"The bag, madam! It’s alive! Or rather, it was until your husband turned it into a snack-carrier!" Ace snatched the purse, sniffing it deeply. "Aha! Just as I suspected. Traces of swamp-water and... is that Grey Poupon? You’ve been kidnapped, Boffo! But Daddy’s here now!"