It Is Merely a Book

"It's been nice visiting you Oma,
I know it will be hard for you this year without Opa.
Thank you for the Botorkoek."

"Annalies, I found something you should have.
Cleaning out your Opa's workshop,
it was carefully placed in a hidden nook."

"It looks very dusty, Oma.
What need have I, for such an old thing?
It is merely a book."

"Your Opa and I gave this to you,
on Christmas Day, twenty years ago.
I thought you might care to take a look."

I remembered the story,
a quite funny tale, of a cat turned human,
and the great adventures she undertook.

"Look! My name!" First time written,
with help from my Opa,
inside the cover of this storybook!

Every few pages, were drawings so lovely,
but back at the time, when I was just six,
too many words were Gobbledygook.

So, my Opa would read the story to me.
And while we sat in the green meadow,
I nestled in his elbow crook.

The further we read; the tale got exciting.
But Opa stopped at each chapter end,
and until my next visit, I was on tenterhook.

If a cat could become human,
then why couldn't I turn into a cat?
And so, I did. Of my own adventures, I partook.

I flexed my claws, and looked for a test.
Certainly, a cat could catch fish,
as they lurked in the brook.

After I fell in, I was cold and wet,
and knew without doubt, why us cats hate water!
I declared my intention to forever forsook.

I ran straight to Opa, and he started a fire.
Tearing out the back page, he lit with a match,
while I stood timidly watching and shook.

From page 16, a sprig of dried lavender fell,
captured from Opa's garden. I helped Opa plant tulips there,
my claws digging holes. Then waited impatient, for a spring look.

I practiced other cat skills, and would carefully creep,
sneaking up on Opa as he worked in his shop.
But somehow, he knew, by subtle floor squeak, every path I took.

I passed over drawings of my favorite scenes,
where once imagination let me join fellow cats.
Every corner folded down, so I could relook.

On page 37, a brown syrup smudge.
Left by sticky fingers, on the day Opa baked me
a very special cat-shaped pannekoek.

Inside the back cover, a treehouse sketch.
Well, because cats like to climb, after all. The build left undone,
Opa never outgrew it, but I did, as years overtook.

"Why are you crying, Annalies?"

"Because, Oma, it is much more than a book."