Why was Dewey written? Because I was asked to write it. Not just by one person, but by hundreds, for years. Locals, visitors, book agents, professional writers (they wanted to help), people who had read about him in magazines or seen him in a documentary. There was something magical about this lovable orange cat named Dewey Readmore Books and the small-town library where he lived. So, after years of saying no, I finally said yes. Dewey had recently died, and part of me must have known writing a book would keep him in my life.