The Dalai Lama's Cat (The Dalai Lama's Cat 1)

“We encourage our students to turn their jails into monasteries,” said Robina. “To stop thinking about their time inside as a waste of their life and instead to see it as an amazing opportunity for personal growth. There are some who do, and the transformation in those people is incredible. They are able to find real meaning and purpose, and they come out as completely changed people.”

“Very good,” His Holiness said, smiling warmly. “It would be wonderful if everyone could hear that message—especially those who live in jails of their own making.”

As he made that point, the Dalai Lama looked over at me, but I didn’t know why. I had never for a moment imagined that I was a prisoner. Snow Lion—yes. The Most Beautiful Creature That Ever Lived—certainly! Of course, I did have some problems, being a single cat the biggest of them.

But prisoner?

Me?

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; It was only much later that His Holiness’s meaning became clear. After the visitors had departed, the Dalai Lama asked to see Mrs. Trinci to thank her for the meal.

“It was wonderful,” he enthused. “Your dessert in particular. Venerable Robina liked it very much. I hope it wasn’t too stressful to prepare?”

“Oh, no—non troppo! Not much.”

In His Holiness’s presence, Mrs. Trinci was a changed woman. The towering Brunhilde from one of Tenzin’s Wagnerian operas, who dominated the kitchen, was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a blushing schoolgirl.

“We don’t want you to have too much stress.” The Dalai Lama looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before telling her, “It was a very interesting lunch. We were saying how happiness, contentment—this does not depend on circumstance. Mrs. Trinci, you are single and you seem happy to me.”

“I don’t want another husband,” declared Mrs. Trinci, “if that’s what you mean.”

“So being single is not the cause of unhappiness?”

“No, no! Mia vita è buona. My life is good. I am very fulfilled.”

His Holiness nodded. “I feel the same.”

At that moment, I knew what the Dalai Lama meant about prisons of our own making. He hadn’t been talking only about physical circumstances but also about the ideas and beliefs we have that make us unhappy. In my own case, it was the idea that I needed another cat’s company to be happy.

Mrs. Trinci walked toward the door as though to leave. But before opening it, she hesitated. “May I ask you a question, Your Holiness?”

“Of course.”

“I have been coming here to cook for more than twenty years, but you have never tried to convert me. Why is that?”

“What a funny thing to say, Mrs. Trinci!” His Holiness burst out laughing. Taking her hand gently in his, he told her, “The purpose of Buddhism is not to convert people. It is to give them tools so they can create greater happiness. So they can be happier Catholics, happier atheists, happier Buddhists. There are many practices, and I know you are already very familiar with one of them.”

Mrs. Trinci raised her eyebrows.

“It is the wonderful paradox,” he continued, “that the best way to achieve happiness for oneself is to give happiness to others.”

That evening I sat on my windowsill, looking out across the temple courtyard. I would try an experiment, I decided. Next time I caught myself yearning for another cat in my life, I would remind myself of His Holiness and Mrs. Trinci, who were both very contentedly single. I would deliberately set about making some other being happy, even if it was as simple as bestowing a kindly purr, in order to shift the focus of my thoughts off myself and onto others. I would explore the “wonderful paradox” the Dalai Lama spoke about to see if it worked for me.

Even in the act of making this decision I found myself unaccountably lighter—feeling less burdened and more carefree. It was not my circumstances that were causing me distress but my belief about these circumstances. By letting go of the unhappiness-creating belief that I needed another cat, I would convert my jail into a monastery.

I was contemplating this very thought when something caught my eye—a movement next to a large rock in the flower bed on the other side of the courtyard. Darkness had already fallen, but the rock was illuminated by a green light that burned all night on a nearby market stall. For a long while I paused, staring across the distance.

No, I wasn’t mistaken! Transfixed, I began to make out the silhouette: large, leonine, like a wild beast that had emerged from the jungle, with watchful dark eyes and perfectly symmetrical stripes. A magnificent tiger tabby.

With fluid grace he slipped onto the rock, his movement purposeful and mesmerizing. From there he surveyed Jokhang, as a landowner might survey the far pavilions of his empire, before his head turned to the window where I sat. And paused.

I held his gaze.

There was no obvious acknowledgment of my presence. He had seen me, I was sure, but what was he thinking? Who could tell? He gave away nothing at all.

He stayed on the rock for only a moment before he was gone, disappearing into the undergrowth as mysteriously as he’d come.