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

“Yo

u were?”

“It’ll be fun!”

“Friday night?”

“Deal!” Leaning forward, she softly kissed him on the cheek.

Sam squeezed her arm.

At that moment Franc emerged from the crowd behind them. Meeting Sam’s eye over Serena’s shoulder, he winked.

Back home that night, I took up my usual position on the windowsill. The Dalai Lama, having returned from Delhi, sat on his chair nearby, reading a book.

The window was open, and along with the fresh scent of pine, there seemed to be something else in the air. A hope of things to come.

Watching His Holiness read, I couldn’t help thinking, as I often did in contemplative moments like these, how very fortunate I was to have been rescued by such an amazing man. Images of that day in the streets of New Delhi still arose unbidden. Especially those final moments when I was wrapped in the newspaper and my life force seemed about to leave me.

“Most interesting, my little Snow Lion,” the Dalai Lama remarked after a while, as he closed his book and came over to stroke me.

“I am reading about the life of Albert Schweitzer, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952. He was a very compassionate man, very sincere. I have just read something he said: ‘Sometimes our light goes out, but is blown again into flame by an encounter with another human being. Each of us owes the deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this inner light.’ I agree with that, don’t you, HHC?”

Closing my eyes, I purred.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Michie is the best-selling author of Buddhism for Busy People, Hurry Up and Meditate, and Enlightenment to Go. All have been published internationally and are being translated into many languages. David was born in Zimbabwe, educated at Rhodes University in South Africa, and lived in London for ten years. He is married and based in Perth, Australia.

Website: www.davidmichie.com

An Excerpt from The Dalai Lama’s Cat and the Art of Purring

CHAPTER ONE

Have you ever marveled, dear reader, at how the most apparently trivial of decisions can sometimes lead to the most life-changing events? You make what you believe at the time to be a humdrum, everyday kind of choice, and it has outcomes as dramatic as they are unforeseen.

That was exactly what happened the Monday afternoon I decided that, instead of going home directly, I would take the “scenic” path.

It was not a route I’d taken very often in the past for the simple reason that it wasn’t very scenic. Nor even much of a path. More a humble back alley that ran down behind The Himalaya Book Café and adjacent premises.

It was, however, a longer way home and would take me ten minutes rather than the usual five to get back to Jokhang. And having spent the afternoon asleep on the magazine rack of the café, I felt the need to stretch my legs.

So instead of turning right when I reached the front door, I headed left. Ambled past the open side doors of the café. And turned left again, along the narrow lane used for garbage bins, redolent with kitchen scraps and intriguing aromas.

I continued on my way, somewhat wobbly since my hind legs had been weak since I was a kitten. I paused once to cuff at an intriguing silver and brown object lodged under the rear grill gate of the café, only to discover that it was a champagne cork that had somehow got jammed.

It was as I was preparing to turn left again, that I first became aware of danger. Up on the main street, about 20 yards away, were two of the largest and most ferocious looking dogs I had ever seen. Strangers to the district, they were a menacing presence as they stood, nostrils flared and long fur gusting in the late afternoon breeze.

Worst of all, they were unleashed.

With the wisdom of hindsight, what I should have done at that point was retreat back to the alley, and through the café’s rear gates, where I would have been completely secure behind bars wide enough for me, but much too narrow for these monsters.

In the exact moment I was wondering if they had seen me, they did and instantly gave chase.

Instinct kicking in, I turned right and scrambled as fast as my uncertain limbs would take me. Heart pounding and hair standing on end, I raced desperately in search of refuge. In those adrenaline-charged moments, I felt I was fully capable of going anywhere and doing anything: scrambling up the tallest tree or squeezing through the narrowest gap.

But there was no raised ground. No escape route. The dogs’ vicious baying was closing in behind me. In absolute panic, with nowhere else to turn, I darted into a spice shop on the left-hand side of the road. Perhaps I would find a place where I could climb to safety? Or the dogs would be stopped?