More purring, more buying? Why bookstores showcase Their pets.

Wander into Wild Rumpus Books in Minneapolis and you might miss the tawny cat napping in the window, spine pressed against the sunniest corner of the sill.

Venture deeper into the cozy warren of picture and chapter books, and you’ll begin to detect a theme, if not a whiff of birdseed. That lazy feline known as Booker T. Jones turns out to be one of many beasts on the premises.

Dave is a 27-year-old cockatiel who looks as if he applied too much coral rouge. Mo, a 26-year-old Barbary dove, roosts peacefully in a cage atop the sale shelf. There’s also Newbery and Caldecott, a pair of gentle chinchillas; the Stinky Cheese Man, who, like all crested geckos, licks his own eyeballs; and Eartha Kitt, a jet-black Manx who politely recoiled from a visitor’s hand while curled, cinnamon bun-style, in a mail bin.

And, finally, there are 10 fish in a tank in the bathroom, all named for the children’s book illustrators Mac Barnett and Shawn Harris. Their successors will be too, according to bookstore tradition.

A menagerie like this has been a hallmark of Wild Rumpus since the store opened in 1992. When the original owner sold the business to four employees in 2024, the critters were part of the deal.

“They’re the No. 1 draw,” said Anna Hersh, a co-owner and animal care coordinator, who visited the brood daily during pandemic lockdown. “We get a whole bunch of readers, but people really come to see the animals.”

Docile dogs and aloof cats have long been fixtures of independent bookstores, as ubiquitous as free bookmarks. For the most part, they serve as quiet mascots – steadfast and loyal, deigning to have their heads patted or ears scratched while humans tend to the business of words.

Now, thanks to social media, many stores have put themselves on the map with the help of little creatures, including some unlikely stars (bearded dragon, anyone?). The pairing makes sense: Books and animals both provide joy, companionship and windows into other worlds. The former are, admittedly, a lot tidier.

At Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, Vermont, a Russian desert tortoise named Veruca Salt lords over the children’s room from his four-foot tank on the second floor. Claire Benedict and her husband inherited the turtle – previously presumed to be female – from a school librarian. The store hosts an annual birthday party for Veruca, who is around 35, with games, cake and stories. “The Tortoise and the Hare” is a favorite.

Like many bashful creatures, Veruca found his “voice” on Instagram, where he has more than 2,000 fans. It’s hard to say whether animals affect sales but they certainly bring in foot traffic: “You have people coming in saying, ‘I think there’s a tortoise here who I follow,’” Benedict said.

At Scattered Books in Chappaqua, New York, three litter-trained bunnies – Moo, Chuck and Chip – have the run of the place when they’re not feasting on farmers market lettuce in their triple-decker mansion with a view of the great outdoors.

The bunnies have their own basket of pre-chewed books but that doesn’t stop them from occasionally sinking their teeth into a mystery or romance.

“We don’t have books on the bottom shelves,” said Laura Schaefer, who opened Scattered Books in 2017. “The rabbits lend a nice comedic atmosphere. They don’t make any sounds but they can communicate.”

In 2018, Moo climbed up former President Bill Clinton’s leg while CBS was interviewing him about his collaboration with James Patterson on “The President is Missing.”

And at the end of a bunny-centric story hour, Schaefer said, “A nonverbal autistic child tapped on my leg and signed ‘Thank you.’”

Schaefer makes hiring decisions with Moo, Chuck and Chip in mind: “People come in and they’re like, ‘I love to read.” I’m like, ‘How are you with rabbits?’”

Of course, it’s not all rabbit-themed tea parties and clever hashtags (#bringcelery). Recently Scattered Books bid farewell to its first rabbit, Acorn, who was 14. “It’s very hard to break news of a bunny’s death to the community,” Schaefer said. “Staff was crying, kids were crying and leaving notes.”

At the Literary Cat Co. in Pittsburg, Kansas, readers have the opportunity to adopt a pet while they shop. The store partners with a local rescue organization, hosting about seven cats at a time, along with three permanent feline “employees”: Hank, the regional manager; Scarlett Toe’Hara, the assistant regional manager (she’s polydactyl); and Mike Meowski, the assistant to the assistant regional manager.

Jennifer Mowdy, the store’s owner, described each cat’s role, personality and origin story with the air of a matriarch ticking off successful grandchildren. Speaking of the upper respiratory illness that cost Mike Meowski an eye, she sounded stoic. He was a kitten; she was there for him. They soldiered through.

Mowdy created a glass alcove for allergic customers – and to deter escapees – and a “kitty conference room” (accessible by cat door) for litter boxes. With regular scooping, four air purifiers and daily mists of Mrs. Meyers Room Spray, she said the scent of the store is neutral to positive.

In the past year and a half, the Literary Cat Co. has facilitated 50 adoptions. “We’ve only had one cat that didn’t work out,” Mowdy said. “Too much fight in her.”

Kittens tend to wreak havoc; Mowdy prefers a mature animal of the “Don’t call me, I’ll call you” variety. Felines are welcome to scale shelves and interact with readers as they please, which is their way.

“They get to practice being a good house cat,” Mowdy said. “They get socialized.” Occasionally, the right cat finds the right reader’s lap. The rest is destiny (with the rescue organization handling logistics; the Literary Cat Co. simply makes the introduction).

Dog lovers, never fear. Plenty of bookstores cater to the canine crowd, including Parnassus Books in Nashville, Tennessee, where employees are welcome to bring their best friends to work. The current roster includes Miller, a French bulldog; Barnabus, a Cavalier King Charles spaniel; Winnie, a tiny hound mix; and Nemo, who is half Bichon and half poodle, according to novelist Ann Patchett, who owns the store.

Her rules for shop dogs are simple: “No barking. No biting. You have to like children and be patient, and you can’t run out the front door.”

Patchett recalled a lively beagle, Eleanor Roosevelt, who bolted out of Parnassus, across five lanes of traffic and into a parking garage before being corralled by an employee.

“Eleanor worked remotely after that,” Patchett said.

While cats, birds, rabbits and lizards can be left alone overnight, dogs generally cannot, which makes them slightly more complicated as bookstore pets. But they can be excellent listeners; as Patchett pointed out, beginning readers feel comfortable testing their skills with a dog.

Anna Hersh enjoys bringing her Lhasa apso, Penny, to Wild Rumpus, but she’s leery of committing to an official shop dog.

For now, Hersh is happy with the book-to-animal ratio at her store, and the visitors who enjoy both. Booker T. Jones is an especially good cat to practice “gentle” on, she said, although Wild Rumpus has a rule that patrons aren’t supposed to pick up the pets.

Because it’s impossible to predict the behavior of children and animals, Hersh added, “We obviously have fun Band-Aids.”

This article originally appeared in the New York Times.