The Dalai Lama's Cat
ALSO BY DAVID MICHIE
Fiction
Conflict of Interest
Pure Deception
Expiry Date
The Magician of Lhasa
Nonfiction
The Invisible Persuaders
Buddhism for Busy People:
Finding Happiness in an Uncertain World
Hurry Up and Meditate:
Your Starter Kit for Inner Peace and Better Health
Enlightenment to Go: Shantideva and the Power of
Compassion to Transform Your Life
Copyright © 2012 by Mosaic Reputation Management
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Cover design:
Amy Rose Grigoriou •
Interior design:
Pamela Homan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use—other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews—without prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or deceased, is strictly coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Michie, David.
The Dalai Lama's cat / David Michie. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-4019-4058-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Bstan-'dzin-rgya-mtsho, Dalai Lama XIV, 1935—Fiction. 2. Cats—Fiction. 3. Buddhism—Fiction. 4. Buddhist philosophy—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6063.I223D35 2012
823'.92—dc23
2012025262
Tradepaper ISBN: 978-1-4019-4058-4
Digital ISBN: 978-1-4019-4059-1
15 14 13 12 4 3 2 1
1st edition, October 2012
Printed in the United States of America
In loving memory of our own little Rinpoche,
Princess Wussik of the Sapphire Throne.
She brought us joy; we loved her well.
May this book be a direct cause for her,
and all living beings, to quickly and easily
attain complete enlightenment.
May all beings have happiness
and the true causes of happiness;
May all beings be free from suffering
and the true causes of suffering;
May all beings never be parted from the happiness that
is without suffering, the great joy of nirvana, liberation;
May all beings abide in peace and equanimity,
their minds free from attachment and aversion,
and free from indifference.
Contents
The idea came about one sunny Himalayan morning. There I was, lying in my usual spot on the first-floor windowsill—the perfect vantage point from which to maintain maximum surveillance with minimum effort—as His Holiness was bringing a private audience to a close.
I’m far too discreet to mention who the audience was with, except to say that she’s a very famous Hollywood actress … you know, the
legally
blonde one, who does all the charity work for children and is quite well known for her love of donkeys. Yes,
her!
It was as she was turning to leave the room that she glanced out the window, with its magnificent view of the snow-capped mountains, and noticed me for the first time.
“Oh! How adorable!” She stepped over to stroke my neck, which I acknowledged with a wide yawn and tremulous stretch of the front paws. “I didn’t know you had a cat!” she exclaimed.
I am always surprised how many people make this observation—though not all are as bold as the American in giving voice to their astonishment. Why should His Holiness
not
have a cat—if, indeed, “having a cat” is a correct understanding of the relationship?
Besides, anyone with a particularly acute power of observation would recognize the feline presence in His Holiness’s life by the stray hairs and occasional whisker I make it my business to leave on his person. Should you ever have the privilege of getting very close to the Dalai Lama and scrutinizing his robes, you will almost certainly discover a fine wisp of white fur, confirming that far from living alone, he shares his inner sanctum with a cat of impeccable—if undocumented—breeding.
It was exactly this discovery to which the queen of England’s corgis reacted with such vigor when His Holiness visited Buckingham Palace—an incident of which the world media were strangely unaware.
But I digress.
Having stroked my neck, the American actress asked, “Does she have a name?”
“Oh, yes! Many names.” His Holiness smiled enigmatically.
What the Dalai Lama said was true. Like many domestic cats, I have acquired a variety of names, some of them used frequently, others less so. One of them in particular is a name I don’t much care for. Known among His Holiness’s staff as my ordination name, it isn’t a name the Dalai Lama himself has ever used—not the full version, at least. Nor is it a name I will disclose so long as I live. Not in this book, that’s for sure.
Well …
definitely
not in this chapter.
“If only she could speak,” continued the actress, “I’m sure she’d have such wisdom to share.”
And so the seed was planted.
In the months that followed I watched His Holiness working on a new book: the many hours he spent making sure texts were correctly interpreted; the great time and care he took to ensure that every word he wrote conveyed the greatest possible meaning and benefit. More and more, I began to think that perhaps the time had come for me to write a book of my own—a book that would convey some of the wisdom I’ve learned sitting not at the feet of the Dalai Lama but even closer, on his lap. A book that would tell my own tale—not so much one of rags to riches as trash to temple. How I was rescued from a fate too grisly to contemplate, to become the constant companion of a man who is not only one of the world’s greatest spiritual leaders and a Nobel Peace Prize Laureate but also a dab hand with a can opener.
Often in the late afternoon, after I feel His Holiness has already spent too many hours at his desk, I will hop off the windowsill, pad over to where he is working, and rub my furry body against his legs. If this doesn’t get his attention, I sink my teeth politely but precisely into the tender flesh of his ankles. That always does it.
With a sigh, the Dalai Lama will push back his chair, scoop me up into his arms, and walk over to the window. As he looks into my big, blue eyes, the expression in his own is one of such immense love that it never ceases to fill me with happiness.
“My little ‘bodhi
cat
va,’” he will sometimes call me, a play on
bodhisattva
, a Sanskrit term that in Buddhism refers to an enlightened being.
Together we gaze out at the panoramic vista that sweeps down the Kangra Valley. Through the open windows a gentle breeze carries fragrances of pine, Himalayan oak, and rhododendron, giving the air its pristine, almost magical, quality. In the warm embrace of the Dalai Lama, all distinctions dissolve completely—between observer and observed, between cat and lama, between the stillness of twilight and my deep-throated purr.
