One of our favorite parts of New York City is its many independent bookstores. Even more than these bookstores, we love their cats.

The Corner Bookstore, located in Manhattan, might spark memories for those of you who grew up on the Upper East Side: It has a healthy children’s section, a jingly welcoming bell, and – most importantly – a cat.

Hampton, named after his place of rescue (that sprawling, wealthy expanse of land just east of the city) is young: “Five or six,” according to store employee Davi Marra. He lives in the bookstore’s basement, coming up for air to “tolerate the adoration” he receives from customers.

“People ask me how Hampton is before they ask me how I am,” said Marra.

Though the cat is calm and quiet, he has known his share of mishaps: “When he was really small, he got stuck behind the bookcases. We had to fish him out.” On other occasions, the cat has tumbled from a high shelf, thinking he’s lighter than he is: “He’s gained some weight.”

Cats are known for being picky, and this one is no exception. Hampton prefers “the travel section,” located near the store’s old-fashioned cash register.

“Especially China and India.”

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Like Hampton, Hayes of Brooklyn’s Spoonbill and Sugartown, is a little unsteady on his feet: he “will try to jump up on the counter and then fall,” according to employee Quentin. The cat doesn’t like hard surfaces and will “put his head on a book after a customer’s put it down.”

Myles, the store’s owner, adopted Hayes and his brotha’ from anotha’ motha’ (Rainer) in 1999, and the store has been around as long as they have. It’s not atypical to see customers coming in and spending one or two hours only with the cats. The two came from BARC (Brooklyn Animal Resource Coalition), a no-kill animal shelter.

Rainer is a tripod, and for this reason favors sitting on the side that conceals his missing leg. A sweet cat, he purrs on approach but is slightly sensitive from nerve damage. The surgery removed a cancerous tumor and cost $1000 in total: A good amount of this money, according to Quentin, came from customer donations.

“We had a collection box and people donated a lot. They were really nice and concerned before the surgery. He was traumatized for several weeks and then one day started coming out again.”

Hayes, a “tuxedo” cat, hilariously “likes to be where the action is but pretends he doesn’t.”

“He’ll sit right here [in front of the register] so customers will pet him,” said Quentin. “But he won’t really respond.” So don’t take it personally: he’s probably just going through a mid-life crisis.

Quentin also worked at The Community Bookstore in Brooklyn, which has not only a cat, but also a bearded dragon lizard and turtles: “Customers would show up who could no longer have animals.” This is how the lizard (named Karrthus) and the turtles (unnamed, in the back pond) came to the store.

Tiny the cat, or Tiny the Usurper, as a “resident artist employee” likes to characterize him, “has a big personality,” according to fellow employee Lima. “When he wants food, he declares it loudly.” Tiny made his way to the store from – literally – the streets of Brooklyn, where a group of kids were talking about dropping off a box of kittens at the animal shelter.

An employee heard this, went outside, and came back with the box. The other cats were adopted, but Tiny stayed. And the community is glad that he did; customers regularly gush about the cat and his animal friends who have found a place in this menagerie of a bookstore.

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If you befriend bookstore cats, you will have many friends in high places. Holly [named after you-know-which famous character] of Babbo’s Books on Prospect Park West could be found curled on top of a bookshelf. It’s a universal secret that people never look up, so it makes sense that some are startled to find Holly in this position.

But Holly, probably the sweetest cat out of any “interviewed,” is insanely friendly and affectionate. Leonora Stein, the bookstore’s young owner, opened in 2007 without “ever running a business before.” The bookstore is a true neighborhood spot, and Stein offers bookmarks made by a resident artist to customers on their way out. She’s apparently been successful: She’s hosted meditation groups (during which Holly would sometimes jump on a lucky customer’s lap) and sees kids and adults come into the store, several of whom “just to pet the cat.”

Unfortunately, Holly, like Rainer, has her own sob story, and one that might not have a happy ending. Holly is scary-skinny, an indication of the kidney disease she’s had for three or four years. Kidney disease is survivable, though tough to fight and possibly fatal.

Stein, like those at Spoonbill, left out a collection box for those willing to help. The fundraising effort that followed was “incredible”: The $800 raised ended up paying for Holly’s initial overnight visits to the vet (Too sick to eat, she was put on an IV). If it weren’t for her thinness, Holly’s sickness would be undetectable: she isn’t a coward, and she doesn’t complain (meow?) about her disease.

Her own cat aside, Stein believes that “bookstore cats, like independent bookstores, are individuals.”

“They’re a magical phenomena.”

Next series on bookstore pets?:

(photos by Olivia Loving)