Free Dewey by Vicki Myron Page A

them; after a few months, they became so calm you couldn’t believe it was the same group of kids.
    The children couldn’t pet very well, since most were physically disabled. Dewey didn’t care. As long as the children were somewhat quiet, Dewey spent the hour with them. He walked around the room and rubbed their legs. He jumped in their laps. The children became so fixated on him, they didn’t notice anything else. If we had read them the phone book they couldn’t have cared less.
    Crystal was one of the more disabled members of the group. She was a beautiful girl of about eleven, but she had no speech and very little control of her limbs. She was in a wheelchair, and the wheelchair had a wooden tray on the front. When she came into the library, her head was always down and her eyes were staring at that tray. The teacher took off her coat or opened her jacket, and she didn’t move. It was like she wasn’t even there.
    Dewey noticed Crystal right away, but they didn’t form an immediate bond. She didn’t seem interested in him, and there were plenty of children who desperately wanted his attention. Then one week Dewey jumped on Crystal’s wheelchair tray. Crystal squealed. She had been coming to the library for years, and I didn’t even know she could vocalize. That squeal was the first sound I ever heard her make.
    Dewey started visiting Crystal every week. Every time he jumped onto her tray, Crystal squealed with delight. It was a loud, high-pitched squeal, but it never scared Dewey. He knew what it meant. He could feel her excitement, or maybe he could see the change in her face. Whenever she saw Dewey, Crystal glowed. Her eyes had always been blank. Now they were on fire.
    Soon it wasn’t just seeing Dewey on her tray. The moment the teacher pushed her into the library, Crystal was alive. When she saw Dewey, who waited for her at the front door, she immediately started to vocalize. It wasn’t her usual high-pitched squeal but a deeper sound. I believed she was calling to Dewey. Dewey must have thought so, too, because as soon as he heard it, he was at her side. Once her wheelchair was parked, he jumped on her tray, and happiness exploded from within her. She started to squeal, and her smile, you couldn’t believe how big and bright it was. Crystal had the best smile in the world.
    Usually Crystal’s teacher picked up her hand and helped her pet Dewey. That touch, the feel of his fur on her skin, always brought on a round of louder and more delighted squeals. I swear, one day she looked up and made eye contact with me. She was overcome with joy, and she wanted to share the moment with someone, with everyone. This from a girl who for years never lifted her eyes from the floor.
    One week I picked Dewey off Crystal’s tray and put him inside her coat. She didn’t even squeal. She just stared down at him in awe. She was so happy. Dewey was so happy. He had a chest to lean on, and it was warm, and he was with somebody he loved. He wouldn’t come out of her coat. He stayed in there for twenty minutes, maybe more. The other children checked out books. Dewey and Crystal sat together in front of the circulation desk. The bus was idling in front of the library, and all the other children were on it, but Dewey and Crystal were still sitting where we had left them, alone together. That smile, that moment, was worth the world.
    I can’t imagine Crystal’s life. I don’t know how she felt when she was out in the world, or even what she did. But I know that whenever she was in the Spencer Public Library with Dewey, she was happy. And I think she experienced the kind of complete happiness very few of us ever feel. Dewey knew that. He wanted her to experience that happiness, and he loved her for it. Isn’t that a legacy worthy of any cat, or human being?
    The list on the opposite page was written on a big orange piece of poster board and hung at the Spencer Public Library circulation desk for Dewey’s first birthday,