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The Just So Stories are integral to the inner landscape of my childhood; I am always surprised to hear that a new friend has never read them. Forever I have understood "The Cat That Walked by Himself," in my own cats, and, when life events get the best of me, I have held my nose and said, "This is too much for me," so I sound like the Elephant's Child with his (then short) nose in the mouth of the Crocodile. My Uncle Harold read these stories of transformation to my mother when she was small, my mother read them to me, and my mother and I read them to my daughter, now 22. There is a silly logic to them, an appeal to the imagination, and a true seeing into the fact of existential alchemy. Enjoy!