The World's Loneliest Library Checks Out Zero Books but Hosts Weekly Cat Yoga

The Buford Branch Library, located in a former grain silo in Buford, Wyoming (population two: the librarian and her husband), has 4,200 books on its shelves. In the past three years, exactly zero of those books have been checked out. The library has no scanner, no late fees, and no overdue notices because, as librarian Margaret Holloway puts it, "You cannot be overdue if you never leave."

But the library is not dead. Far from it. On Wednesday nights, the basement—which still smells faintly of cattle feed from the silo's previous life—fills with yoga mats, scented candles, and a rotating cast of rescue cats. The class, called "Downward Cat," combines gentle Hatha yoga with free-roaming felines who stretch, nap, and occasionally sit on participants' backs.

"I never intended to run a yoga studio," Holloway said, stroking a tabby named Waffle who had claimed her lap. "I intended to run a library. But no one reads anymore. The nearest school is 40 miles away. The ranchers are too tired to read after 14-hour days. The only people who came were retirees looking for air conditioning. Then the county said they would close the branch unless I could show community engagement."

Desperate, Holloway posted a flyer at the Buford General Store: "Free yoga. Bring a mat. Cats provided." She had exactly one cat at the time—a one-eyed barn cat named Gus who had adopted the library. Five people showed up. Four of them were allergic. Three left. One stayed, finished the class, and told her sister. The sister told a friend in Laramie. Within six months, Holloway was running two classes a week with a waiting list.

The secret ingredient, it turns out, is not the yoga. It is the cats. Holloway partnered with the Laramie Animal Shelter to bring in adoptable cats for each class. Participants can pet, hold, and bond with the cats during relaxation poses. At the end of class, anyone who wants to adopt a cat can fill out a short application. Since Downward Cat began, 47 cats have found permanent homes.

"I came for the yoga because my doctor said I needed to stretch," said Dale Henderson, a 68-year-old retired rancher who drives 90 minutes each way for the Wednesday class. "I stayed because of the cats. I adopted two. Now I have to come back so my cats can visit their friends. Do not tell anyone, but I cry during savasana. Not from emotion. From cat hair in my nose. That is my story and I am sticking to it."

The library's book collection has not gone entirely unused. Holloway has repurposed the stacks as climbing structures for the cats. Non-fiction shelves lead to a high platform where cats can survey their domain. The children's section is now a kitten nursery. The reference desk is a cat bed shaped like a tiny throne.

"The county librarian had a heart attack when she saw what I did to the Dewey Decimal System," Holloway said, not without glee. "She said, 'You cannot just put cats in the 600s.' I said, 'They are not in the 600s. They are on top of the 600s. There is a difference.'"

Downward Cat has become enough of a regional phenomenon that Holloway now offers a "book return discount" =>anyone who brings a book to donate gets a free chai tea after class. The donated books go straight to a Little Free Library outside the silo, where they are taken—not checked out, just taken—by passersby.

"I have made peace with the fact that this is not a library anymore," Holloway said. "It is a cat yoga studio that happens to have books. And that is fine. Community is community. If the community wants cats and breathing exercises, I give them cats and breathing exercises. The books are patient. They will wait. They have been waiting for 140 years. They can wait a little longer."

When asked if she has any plans to actually lend a book in the future, Holloway laughed. "Check out a book? To whom? The cats cannot read. The yogis are too busy petting. I suppose I could check out a book to myself. But that would be cheating. And also, I do not have time to read. I have to clean the litter boxes."