The story alternates between the ‘biography’ of Dewey, the yellow tabby kitten found in the night depository box of a small Midwestern library and the autobiography of the head librarian who found him. I found the life of Dewey to be a very well written, sweet, and sometimes ‘overtly sticky’ memoir. Sadly, I thought that the autobiographical parts to be sometimes more like reading the notes of a therapy session of a woman trying to convince herself that her life was well done. While I appreciated her love of the part of the country where she lived, and sometimes the continual stated affirmations on how GOOD and REAL and WONDERFUL life was around her made me feel like she was trying to convince herself that the place was really so wonderful that thinking of living elsewhere was foolish. In the end, I had to admit, I had wished there was more Dewey, less Vicki.