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

“That long?”

“Impermanence,” Chogyal reminded him, snapping his fingers.

“Hmm.”

“Is there any reason—?”

“I was just thinking,” Tenzin said, “she’s no longer a kitten. When she had her vaccinations, they suggested we take her in to have her spayed. And a microchip implant.”

“I’ll make a note to contact the vet,” Chogyal said, adding this to his daily To Do list. “Friday afternoon I should have some time to take her in.”

That Friday afternoon found me sitting on Chogyal’s lap in the back of the Dalai Lama’s car as the driver—the less said about him the better—drove us from Jokhang to the modern veterinary surgery in Dharamsala. There was no need for cages, hampers, or uncivilized yowling. I am, after all, His Holiness’s Cat. On the way down the hill, I took a keen interest in the unfolding tableau, whiskers twitching with curiosity. If anything, it was Chogyal who required soothing, as he held onto me nervously, muttering mantras under his breath.

Dr. Wilkinson, the tall, rangy Australian vet, soon had me on the examination table, where he proceeded to open my mouth, shine light beams in my ears, and subject me to the indignity of a temperature check.

“Time seems to have gotten away from us,” Chogyal told him. “She's been with us for longer than we realized.”

“She had her initial jabs,” the vet reassured him. “That’s the main thing. Lost a bit of weight since the last time I saw her, which she needed to do. Coat is in excellent condition.”

“We’d like to have her microchipped. And spayed.”

“Microchip”—Dr. Wilkinson was massaging my body—“always a good idea. We have people bring in lost pets all the time, and we have no way of contacting their owners. Heartbreaking.”

He paused, hands no longer moving. “But we’ll have to hold off the spaying for a while.”

Chogyal’s brow furrowed. “We weren’t thinking now—”

“Six weeks. Maybe a month.” The vet gave him a meaningful look.

Chogyal still wasn’t getting it. “You’re fully booked for operations?”

Dr. Wilkinson shook his head with a smile. “It’s a bit late for spaying, mate,” he told Chogyal. “His Holiness’s Cat is to be a mother.”

“What will we call them?” was the Driver’s reaction when Chogyal broke the news on the way home.

Chogyal shrugged. I expect he had other things on his mind. Like how to break the news to His Holiness.

“Micey-Tungs?” suggested the driver.

EPILOGUE

Things were happening down at Café Franc. Sign painters had been up ladders for days, working on the façade of the restaurant. The area Franc was considering for a bookstore had been screened off. Judging from the muffled sounds of drilling and nailing, and the flurry of workmen in and out, all kinds of changes were taking place behind the floor-to-ceiling panels.

To anyone who asked, Franc explained that Café Franc was about to have “a major relaunch.” It would be everything it had been in the past—but better. There would be more for customers and a wider variety of products. It would be an even nicer place to spend your time.

But exactly what was going on behind the scenes remained veiled in mystery.

This was an apt metaphor for my life right now. I was to become the mother of kittens. The changes in my body were rapid and significant. But exactly what this would mean to me was something I could only guess at. Exactly how many kittens would I have? In what way would they alter our life at Jokhang? Would they emerge as Himalayan, tabby, or somewhere in between?

One thing I knew for certain was that I had the Dalai Lama’s full support. Following our visit to the vet, when Chogyal reported the news, His Holiness’s face lit up. “Oh … how extraordinary!” His expression had been almost childlike with wonder as he leaned over to stroke me. “A litter of Snow Lion cubs. That will be fun!”

The question of my own origins, a riddle I believed would remain forever unsolved, was another area in which there had been sudden and unexpected change. Within days of Tashi and Sashi blurting out my origins, Chogyal had arranged for them to accompany him on his next visit to Delhi, to identify the family to whom my mother had belonged. They found the house without difficulty, but it was locked and guarded by a private security detail. There was no sign that a family was currently living there. No evidence at all of a feline in residence. A note had been left with one of the security guards, but a reply was yet to be forthcoming.

For all kinds of reasons, I felt I was living on the cusp of profound change. The tectonic plates of life were shifting. Things would never be the same again. I sensed the excitement of it, as well as the apprehension. But with the image of Geshe Wangpo vivid in my mind, I had all I needed. I was going to make this a positive transformation. I wasn’t going to avoid any of it.

In particular, I wasn’t going to miss out on the relaunch of Café Franc, which had been the cause of so much activity.

The event was scheduled for 6 P.M. one evening, but I made my way down the hill well in advance. My viewing platform was unaffected by the changes, which were no longer concealed by security screens but by large sheets of paper held together with a broad, red ribbon.