The Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat 2)

“Wow!” She stared at the figures.

After a pause, he told her, “It’s a whole new business, Serena.”

For a long while they both studied the figures, Serena aglow with the possibilities. Then her expression turned serious. “Have you heard from Franc about the accounts?” she asked.

The question held more significance than it seemed. Because of all that Franc was going through around his father’s death, Serena and Sam had decided not to make a big deal out of the first Indian banquet. But they had shown it as a separate line item in the accounts they sent Franc each month, along with a brief explanation of each item. The separate line for the banquet showed a record high take on a night when the café was usually shut. And they had asked him, “Do you like?”

Seeing her expression, Sam shook his head no.

“Until we hear …”

Sam gathered the papers and put them in a pile on the coffee table. “I guess,” he said.

For a while the two of them sat stroking their sem chen friends, the two dogs grinding their heads into the cushions with pleasure, while I signaled my contentment with a more genteel purr.

“Speaking of food,” mused Serena after a while, “I heard some interesting things today about nutrition and self-control.” She described the visit from the disciplinarian of Namgyal Monastery.

“I wonder if it’s the same for these little ones,” she said, looking at the dogs and me. “I’m guessing that nutrition may have an effect on how they’re feeling at any particular moment of the day.”

Sam glanced up momentarily, searching through his encyclopedic memory. “I remember reading somewhere that the ideal diet for an adult cat is about fourteen mice-size portions a day.”

“Fourteen?!” exclaimed Serena.

Sam shrugged. “Once you get rid of the fur and bone, the average mouse isn’t very caloric.”

“I guess not,” Serena conceded.

“There probably are parallels with human nutrition. All animals need the right balance of water, protein, and vitamins.”

“Amazing to think how much our moods are affected by the food we eat,” mused Serena.

“Happiness is chemistry,” said Sam.

Serena looked dubious. “Maybe not exclusively. But the chemistry has to be there.”

“A factor.”

“An important factor,” she amended.

“Oh, little Rinpoche,” she said, leaning over and kissing my head effusively. “I so hope you’re a chemically content little Snow Lion!”

Yes, I thought. After a mouse-size portion of lactose-free milk, I most certainly was. And along with the tasty meals I had eaten today—Mrs. Trinci’s delicious goulash being the unquestioned highlight—I had also come to a surprising insight about happiness, one that might otherwise have remained a deep mystery.

I had discovered the reason why on a perfectly delightful morning I could suddenly feel testy and bored. The reason, dear reader, is food. For humans, a low-glucose diet appears to be the best way to ward off feelings of ennui and disgruntlement, and the possibility of denying parole-seekers their liberty. As for us felines, what could set the world right more reliably than a tasty mouse-size snack?

It was two days later when Sam summoned Serena over from the café area.

As she approached she saw him sitting grim-faced at his computer. “Just heard from Franc about the accounts,” he told her.

She didn’t need to look at the screen to guess the outcome. But when she did, she saw Franc’s response to their question Do you like? At the bottom of the page, in large capitals he had written, “I DON’T LIKE!” He had even underlined the words for added emphasis.

Sam was shaking his head. “I just don’t get it.”

“I’m not completely surprised,” said Serena, stepping back from the computer. “Franc’s vision for the café has always been a Western oasis, an enclave removed from the world outside.”

“Even when our customers are voting big-time with their wallets?”

Serena shrugged, but there was no mistaking the disappointment on her face. All thought of future Indian banquets, spice packs, and online promotions vanished in an instant. And with it came a sense of foreboding about what lay ahead for the Himalaya Book Café: we were heading into uncharted waters.