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

The girl dangled the mouse in front of Dewey’s sleepy eyes to get his attention. Then she delicately tossed it a few feet away. As soon as it hit the ground, Dewey jumped on it. He chased that toy; he threw it in the air; he batted it with his paws. The girl giggled with delight. Dewey never played with it again, but while that little girl was here, he loved that little mouse. He gave that mouse every ounce of energy he had. And the little girl beamed. She just beamed. She had come hundreds of miles to see a cat, and she was not disappointed. Why did I ever worry about Dewey? He always came through.

DEWEY’S JOB DESCRIPTION

Written in response to the question, “So what is Dewey’s job?” which was often asked after people found out Dewey received a 15 percent library employee discount from Dr. Esterly.

1. Reducing stress for all humans who pay attention to him.

2. Sitting by the front door every morning at nine to greet the public as they enter the library.

3. Sampling all boxes that enter the library for security problems and comfort level.

4. Attending all meetings in the Round Room as official library ambassador.

5. Providing comic relief for staff and visitors.

6. Climbing in book bags and briefcases while patrons are studying or trying to retrieve needed papers.

7. Generating free national and worldwide publicity for Spencer Public Library. (This entails sitting still for photographs, smiling for the camera, and generally being cute.)

8. Working toward status as world’s most finicky cat by refusing all but the most expensive, delectable foods.

Chapter 21

What Makes Us Special?

I’ll always remember the former city manager. Every time he saw me, he said with a smile, “Are you girls at the library still mooning over that cat?” Maybe he was trying to be funny, but I couldn’t help but feel offended. Girls! That word might be a term of endearment, but I got the feeling he was putting me in my place, that he was speaking for a large block of community leaders who couldn’t even conceive of making a fuss over things like books, libraries, and cats. That was girl stuff.

Did the town even need a cat anymore? It was the twenty-first century, after all, and Spencer was thriving. In the late 1990s, the YMCA completed a $2 million renovation. The Spencer Regional Hospital expanded twice. Thanks to $170,000 in donations and 250 volunteers, the modest new playground planned for East Lynch Park turned into a 30,000-square-foot megaplayground called the Miracle on South Fourth Street. Why not just take the next step and attract . . . a casino?

When Iowa decided to issue a few casino licenses in 2003, some community leaders sensed an opportunity to catapult Spencer into the biggest little small town in America. They courted developers, even picked out a location along the river on the southwest edge of town, and drew up plans. But for many of us, the casino in 2003 looked like the slaughterhouse in 1993—a chance to put on economic muscle, but at a high cost. Sure, the casino would generate good jobs and, according to estimates, more than a million dollars in mandatory charitable contributions a year, but would we ever be the same town again? Would we lose our identity and become, in our own eyes and everyone else’s around, the casino town? The debate went back and forth, but in the end the casino met the same fate as the Montfort plant: the community voted it down. The casino was authorized in Palo Alto County, the county east of us, and built in Emmetsburg, only twenty-five miles away.

Maybe when we voted down the casino we once again turned our backs on the future. Maybe we were selling out our history as a progressive town. Maybe we were being naive. But in Spencer we believe in building on what we have.