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

The biggest change, though, was pride. Dewey’s friends were proud of him, and everyone was proud to have him in town. One man, back for his twentieth high school reunion, stopped by the library to flip through newspapers from that year. Dewey, of course, won him over immediately. But once he heard about Dewey’s friends and saw the articles about him, he became truly impressed. He wrote later to thank us and say he’d been telling everyone in New York about his wonderful hometown and its beloved library cat.

He wasn’t the only one. We had three or four people a week coming into the library to show Dewey off. “We’re here to see the famous cat,” an older man said, approaching the desk.

“He’s sleeping in the back. I’ll go get him.”

“Thanks,” he said, motioning to a younger woman with a little blond girl hiding behind her leg. “I wanted my granddaughter Lydia to meet him. She’s in town from Kentucky.”

When Lydia saw Dewey, she smiled and looked up at her grandfather as if for permission. “Go ahead, sweetie. Dewey won’t bite.” The girl tentatively stretched out her hand to Dewey; two minutes later she was stretched out on the floor, petting him.

“See?” her grandfather said to the little girl’s mother. “I told you it was worth the trip.” I suppose he could have meant Dewey or the library, but I suspect he was referring to something more.

Later, while the mother was petting Dewey with her daughter, the grandfather came up to me and said, “Thanks so much for adopting Dewey.” It seemed he wanted to say more, but I think we both understood he had already said enough. Thirty minutes later, as they were leaving, I heard the young woman tell the older man, “You were right, Dad. That was great. I wish we had come by sooner.”

“Don’t worry, Mommy,” the little girl said. “We’ll see him next year, too.”

Pride. Confidence. Assurance that this cat, this library, this experience, maybe even this town, really was special. Dewey wasn’t any more beautiful or friendly after the Country article; in fact, fame never changed him. All Dewey ever wanted was a warm place to nap, a fresh can of food, and love and attention from every person who ever stepped foot in the Spencer Public Library. But at the same time, Dewey had changed, because now people looked at him differently.

The proof? Before the Country article, nobody took the blame for shoving poor Dewey into our book return. Everybody knew the story, but nobody confessed. After Dewey hit the media, eleven different people came up to me confidentially and swore on their mother’s grave (or their mother’s eye, if Mom was alive) that they had shoved Dewey down that hole. They weren’t taking blame; they were taking credit. “I always knew it would turn out well,” they said.

Eleven people! Can you believe it? That must have been one wild, cat-saving alley party.

THE DAILY ROUTINE

As developed by Dewey Readmore Books soon after his regrettable romp outside the Spencer Public Library, and followed for the rest of his life.

7:30 a.m. Mom Arrives. Demand food, but don’t be too hasty. Watch everything she does. Follow at her heels. Make her feel special.

8:00 a.m. Staff Arrives. Spend an hour checking in with everyone. Find out who is having a tough morning and give them the honor of petting me for as long as they want. Or until . . .

8:58 a.m. Prep Time. Take up position by the front door, ready for first patron of the day. Also has the added benefit of alerting distracted staff to current time. I hate it when they open late.

9:00–10:30 a.m. Doors Open. Greet patrons. Follow the nice ones, ignore the mean ones, but give everyone a chance to brighten their day by paying attention to me. Petting me is a gift to you for visiting the library.

10:30 a.m. Find Lap for Nap. Laps are for naps, not playing. Playing in laps is for kittens.