The address Stith Thompson (1885–1976), the American folklorist whose motif-index gives this shelf its number, reserves here is a bald one: a man transformed into a cat. But the single German witness wired to served text carries no cat at all. It is the hundred-and-thirtieth of the Grimm's Household Tales (collected 1812–1857; this translation 1884), the tale of One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes — the middle sister mocked because she has "two eyes like other folks", starved by her mother and siblings, and rescued by a wise woman who teaches her a charm.

What this witness does hold is transformation of another kind. Two-eyes speaks the wise woman's rhyme — "Bleat, my little goat, bleat", she bids it, "Cover the table with something to eat" — and a laden table appears; when her mother kills the goat in spite, the wise woman counsels her to bury its entrails, and overnight they rise as "a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold". The gold apples come "into her hand of their own accord" and no one else can pluck them; a passing knight carries her off, and even the tree follows her to his castle. It is a story of a slaughtered beast turned to enchanted treasure, of the despised sister turned bride — but not of any man turned to cat.

The reason is filing, not content. Thompson's German citation points to Grimm No. 130a — the author's own note appended to this tale, where the cat-transformation must live — and only the tale's narrative, not the note, is wired to served text today; Thompson's further authorities from Breton, French, Indian, Tongan, and North American Indian tradition all wait unread. So the shelf here shows the frame that houses the motif without yet showing the motif itself. When a promised shape survives only in the collector's marginal note, is the address a witness — or a signpost pointing at a door not yet opened?