I picked up Dewey expecting a story about a remarkable library cat, and for the most part that is what makes the book work. Dewey was found as a tiny kitten in the book return chute of the public library in Spencer, Iowa, and from that unlikely beginning became not only a fixture of the library but something of an international celebrity. His appeal is easy to understand. He was affectionate, independent, occasionally inconvenient and entirely feline.

The strongest parts of the book are those that deal directly with Dewey and his relationship with the people around him. The library was more than a building full of books. It was a community space, and Dewey became part of that community. Children sought him out, lonely people found comfort in him, regular visitors came to expect his presence and eventually people from far beyond Spencer knew his story. That is a considerable achievement for one small orange cat.

Where I found the book less successful was in the amount of space devoted to Vicki Myron’s own story. Her personal experiences are obviously relevant because she rescued Dewey, cared for him and worked with him for many years. Some background is therefore necessary. The question is how much.

At times Dewey feels as though it cannot quite decide whether it is the story of a library cat or Vicki Myron’s autobiography with a library cat running through it. Her family history, health, relationships and personal difficulties occupy a substantial proportion of the book. Much of this is interesting enough in its own right, but I am not convinced that all of it strengthens the story that drew most readers to the book in the first place. There were occasions when I found myself wanting the narrative simply to return to Dewey.

This becomes particularly interesting when the book reaches the question of what should happen after Dewey. The decision was made not to replace him with another library cat. There were understandable practical concerns surrounding allergies, liability, changing expectations and the complications of having an animal in a public building. None of these concerns should simply be dismissed.

As a professional risk manager, however, this section particularly struck me because I know only too well how easily risk discussions become dominated by downside risk. What might go wrong? Who might complain? Could someone be injured? Is there a liability issue? Could the presence of the animal create an accessibility or health problem? These are legitimate questions and any organisation would be expected to consider them. The problem is that upside risk is far less often built into the same equation.

Risk is not only about avoiding loss. It is also about uncertainty creating opportunities and benefits. In Dewey’s case, those benefits were not theoretical. They had already occurred and could be observed over many years. Dewey brought people into the library. He gave children another reason to visit. He offered comfort to people who were lonely or distressed. He became part of the identity of Spencer and eventually drew attention to the library and town from around the world.

If we are going to talk about the risks associated with Dewey, then those outcomes belong in the calculation just as surely as allergies, scratches, cleaning problems and liability concerns.
Indeed, Dewey himself provides the evidence. The downside risks of having a cat in a public library were real, but they existed throughout his life there. Against them stood years of positive interaction with thousands of people. That does not mean the negative risks should be ignored. It does mean that the discussion becomes distorted if they are treated as the only risks that matter.

This is where I think the decision not to have another library cat deserves more scrutiny than it receives in the book. There would obviously never have been another Dewey. Attempting to manufacture a replacement would have been artificial and probably unsuccessful. But that is different from deciding that there should never again be a cat in the library.

A new animal would have brought different uncertainties. It might not have had Dewey’s temperament. It might not have connected with people in the same way. Equally, it might have developed its own place within the community and created a completely new set of benefits. That possibility is also risk. It is simply upside risk.

In professional risk management we are very good at documenting what might hurt an organisation. We are considerably less consistent at documenting what might help it, particularly when the benefit is difficult to quantify. Joy, companionship, community identity, emotional comfort and the simple pleasure of encountering a friendly animal in an unexpected place do not fit neatly into a risk matrix. That does not make them unimportant.
Dewey’s story demonstrates this better than most examples I can think of.

A cat might scratch someone. Someone might complain. Someone might be allergic. There could be cleaning issues, insurance questions or administrative complications. All true. But Dewey also gave enormous pleasure to an enormous number of people. He helped make a library feel welcoming and human. He created connections that no publicity campaign or community engagement strategy could easily reproduce.

I suspect that if Dewey had first appeared today, there is a fair chance he might never have been allowed to remain in the library at all. There would have been policies, risk assessments, liability concerns and perhaps a committee meeting. The apparently prudent decision might have been to send him somewhere else. From a conventional downside risk perspective, that might even have looked sensible. From the perspective of what actually happened because Dewey stayed, it would have been a disastrous missed opportunity.

That is ultimately what I took from Dewey. The book is warm and often moving, although I think it loses focus when too much of Vicki Myron’s personal story pushes Dewey into the background. More importantly, the decision not to continue the tradition of a library cat raises a question larger than Dewey himself.

Have we become so focused on identifying everything that might go wrong that we sometimes fail to ask what might go wonderfully right? Have we lost our humanity in the process. The positive benefit of companion animals in aged care, hospitals and schools is well documented, as is the increased productivity morale and stress reduction of pets in the workplace. Dewey was not part of a strategic plan. He was an accident that became an extraordinary success. In the end isn’ that all that matters

A must read for all cat lovers