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

Fortunately, Dewey attended all meetings in the ICN room. He preferred meetings of actual people, but teleconferences were acceptable, too. I put Dewey on the table and pushed a button so he appeared on viewing screens all over the state. You could probably hear the gasp in Nebraska.

“He’s so cute.”

“Do you think my library should get a cat?”

“Only if it’s the right cat.” That’s what I always told them. “You can’t get just any cat. He has to be special.”

“Special?”

“Calm, patient, dignified, intelligent, and above all, outgoing. A library cat has to love people. It also helps if he’s gorgeous and comes with an unforgettable story.” I didn’t mention loving, absolutely loving with his whole heart, being the library cat.

“Okay,” I told them eventually. “Enough fun. Back to censorship and collection development.”

“One more minute. Please. I want my staff to meet Dewey.”

I looked over at my big orange buddy, who was sprawled out in his favorite spot on the table. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

He gave me an innocent look. Who, me? I’m just doing my job.

It wasn’t just librarians who loved Dewey. I was working in my office one morning when Kay called me to the front desk. Standing there was a family of four, two young parents and their children.

“This nice family,” Kay said, with barely disguised amazement, “is from Rhode Island. They’ve come to meet Dewey.”

The father extended his hand. “We were in Minneapolis, so we decided to rent a car and drive down. The kids just love Dewey.”

Was this man crazy? Minneapolis was four and half hours away. “Wonderful,” I said, shaking their hands. “How did you find out about Dewey?”

“We read about him in Cats magazine. We’re cat lovers.”

Obviously.

“Okay,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else. “Let’s go meet him.”

Dewey was, thank goodness, as eager to please as always. He played with the children. He posed for photographs. I showed the little girl the Dewey Carry, and she walked him all around the library on her left shoulder (always the left). I don’t know if it was worth the nine-hour round trip, but the family left happy.

“That was weird,” Kay said once the family was gone.

“It sure was. I bet that never happens again.”

It happened again. And again. And again. And again. They came from Utah, Washington, Mississippi, California, Maine, and every other corner of the map. Older couples, younger couples, families. Many were traveling cross-country and drove one hundred, two hundred miles out of their way to stop in Spencer for the day. I can remember many of their faces, but the only names I remember are Harry and Rita Fein’s from New York City because after meeting Dewey they sent both a birthday present and a Christmas present of twenty-five dollars every year for food and supplies. I wish I had thought to write down information on the others, but at first it seemed so unlikely more people would ever come. Why bother? By the time we realized the power of Dewey’s appeal, visitors were so common they no longer seemed unusual enough to take note of.

How were these people finding out about Dewey? I have no idea. The library never pursued publicity for Dewey. We never contacted a single newspaper, with the exception of the Spencer Daily Reporter. We never hired a publicity agent or marketing manager. After Shopko, we never entered Dewey in any contests. We were Dewey’s answering service, nothing more. We picked up the phone, and there was another magazine, another television program, another radio station wanting an interview. Or we opened the mail and found an article about Dewey from a magazine we’d never heard of or a newspaper halfway across the country. A week later, another family popped up at the library.

What were these pilgrims expecting to find? A wonderful cat, of course, but there are wonderful cats sitting homeless in every shelter in America. Why come all this way? Was it love, peace, comfort, acceptance, a reminder of the simple joys of life? Did they just want to spend time with a star?

Or were they hoping to find a cat, a library, a town, an experience that was genuine, that wasn’t from the past or for the moment, that was different from their lives but somehow familiar? Is that what Iowa is all about? Maybe the heartland isn’t just the place in the middle of the country; maybe it’s also the place in the middle of your chest.