Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched The World

“Or the smell of all that plastic.” I could see his nose sniffing ninety odors a minute and his mind racing. Could it be? All this time, could Mom have been hiding the world’s largest, most spectacular, most deliciously smelly rubber band?

When we pulled the Christmas tree out of the box, I could almost see Dewey’s jaw drop.

It’s not a rubber band, it’s . . . it’s . . . better.

As we pulled each branch out of the box, Dewey lunged at it. He wanted to sniff and chew every green piece of plastic sticking out of every green wire branch. He pulled a few plastic needles off the tree and started working them around in his mouth.

“Give me those, Dewey!”

He coughed a few pieces of plastic onto the floor. Then he leaped forward and thrust his head into the box just as Cynthia was pulling out the next branch.

“Back off, Dewey.”

Cynthia pulled him out, but a second later he was back, a green needle stuck to the moist tip of his nose. This time, his whole head disappeared inside the box. “This isn’t going to work, Dewey. Do you want me to get the rest of the tree out or not?”

Apparently the answer was not, because Dewey wasn’t moving.

“All right, Dewey, out you go. I’d hate for you to lose an eye.” Cynthia wasn’t scolding him, she was laughing. Dewey got the message and jumped back, only to start burrowing into the pile of branches on the floor.

“This is going to take all day,” Cynthia said.

“I sure hope so.”

As Cynthia pulled the last branches out of the box, I started to assemble the tree. Dewey was prancing and grinning, watching my every move. He came in for a sniff and a taste, then bounced back a few feet for perspective. The poor cat looked like he was about to explode with excitement. Hurry up, hurry up. I want my turn. This was the happiest I’d seen him all year.

“Oh, no, Dewey, not again.”

I looked over to find Dewey buried in the Christmas tree box, no doubt sniffing and pawing at the scents clinging to the cardboard. He disappeared completely inside, and a few seconds later the box was rolling back and forth across the floor. He stopped, poked his head out, and looked around. He spotted the half-assembled tree and bolted back to chew on the lower branches.

“I think he’s found a new toy.”

“I think he’s found a new love,” I said as I put the top branches into the notches on the green pole that comprised the trunk of our tree.

It was true. Dewey loved the Christmas tree. He loved the smell of it. The feel of it. The taste of it. Once I had it assembled and set up next to the circulation desk, he loved to sit under it. Mine now, he said as he rounded the base a few times. Just leave us be, thanks.

“Sorry, Dewey. Still work to do. We don’t even have it decorated yet.”

Out came the ornaments, the new tinsel in this year’s color, the pictures and special embellishments for this year’s theme. Angels on strings. Santa Clauses. Shiny balls with glitter all over them. Ribbons, ornaments, cards, and dolls. Dewey rushed up to each box, but he had little interest in cloth and metal, hooks and lights. He was distracted by our wreath, which I had made out of worn-out pieces of the library’s previous Christmas tree, but old plastic was no match for the new, shiny stuff. Soon it was back to his spot under the tree.

We started hanging ornaments. One minute Dewey was in the boxes, finding out which ornaments came next. The next minute he was at our feet, playing with our shoelaces. Then he was stretching into the tree for another whiff of plastic. A few seconds later he was gone.

“What’s that rustling sound?”

Suddenly Dewey came tearing by us with his head through the strap of one of the plastic grocery bags we used for storage. He ran all the way to the far side of the library, then came careening back toward us.

“Catch him!”

Dewey dodged and kept running. Soon he was on his way back again. Cynthia blocked the area near the front door. I took the circulation desk. Dewey sprinted right between us. I could see from the look in his eyes he was in a frenzy. He had no idea how to get the plastic bag from around his neck. His only thought was, Keep running. Maybe I can lose this monster.

Soon there were four or five of us chasing him, but he wouldn’t stop dodging and sprinting away. It didn’t help that we were all laughing at him.

“Sorry, Dewey, but you’ve got to admit this is funny.”