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

“Everyone has the same basic problem. Expressed in different ways. Our main problem is that we are all ‘I’ specialists.”

Franc was uncomprehending. “But I don’t know anything about vision.”

“Not that kind of eye. I as in ‘me, myself, and I.’”

“Oh! Uh-huh.”

“We don’t stop thinking about ourselves the whole time. Even when this makes us unhappy and uptight. If we focus too much on ourselves, we make ourselves sick. We have this constant inner chatter going morning, noon, and night, this inner monologue. But paradoxically, the more we are able to think about making other beings happy, the happier we become ourselves.”

Franc looked despondent as he absorbed this. “Not much hope for people like me, is there?”

“Why?”

“I have a very busy restaurant. I’m in there every day of the week and work long hours. I just don’t have time to think about making other beings happy.”

“But I would say you have a great advantage!” Geshe Wangpo retorted. “The happiness of others isn’t an abstract idea. You don’t have to go to the mountains to meditate on it. You begin at home and at work, with the people and other beings in your life. If you have customers, think of every one of them as an opportunity to practice loving kindness. You can serve them a coffee, or you can serve them a coffee and a smile—something that makes them happier for the moment they are with you. If you have a staff—well, you are a very important person in their lives. You have great power to make them happy—or miserable.”

“I didn’t realize,” said Franc, “that running a business and making money could be part of being a Buddhist.”

“Of course! Everything is part of the Dharma. Your business. Your family. Everything. When you first start, Dharma practice is like a trickle of water high on a mountain. The trickle affects just a small, green area an inch or two wide, as the water flows along the ground. But as you practice Dharma more and more, the flow gets stronger and is joined by other streams. It may occasionally falter, like a waterfall, or disappear beneath the surface, but it keeps going, gathering strength. Eventually, it becomes like a very large river that’s broad and powerful and the center of everything in your life.

“Think about your Dharma practice like that—every day growing more and more. Giving more and more happiness to others—and gaining more and more happiness yourself.”

Several days later I was sitting on the filing cabinet in the executive assistants’ office when I felt a familiar tingling—a powerful compulsion to lick. I began grooming, though even as I did, I remembered the horror of the fur ball experience and the words of Geshe Wangpo: “If we focus too much on ourselves, we make ourselves sick.” I also recalled the lama’s advice about focusing more on others. After some moments, I forced myself to stop and instead hopped down off the filing cabinet.

Tenzin had his spectacles on and was absorbed in an important e-mail from the Dalai Lama to the British prime minister. Chogyal was finalizing the itinerary for His Holiness’s forthcoming visit to Southeast Asia.

With a soft meow I padded over to Chogyal and nudged his hand from the keyboard.

The two executive assistants exchanged glances. As Chogyal hesitated, I gave the back of his hand an appreciative lick.

“What’s this, my little Snow Lion?” he asked, surprised by my display of affection.

“Most unusual,” remarked Tenzin, before adding, “She was licking again. Did you notice? Perhaps she is molting.”

“I didn’t notice.” Chogyal stretched to open his desk drawer. “But I may be able to help.”

From his drawer he produced a bag containing a comb and brush. Then, lifting me off his desk, he took me ou

t to the hallway, where he began combing through my thick coat, removing large tufts of fur with every sweep.

I began purring with contentment. And the purring continued for the next ten minutes as he combed my back, then each side, then my white and luxuriantly fluffy tummy. Chogyal removed every tangle, until my fur shimmered with silkiness. I had rarely felt such bliss. Head back and eyes shut, I thought that if this were the reward one got for wishing to make other beings happy, I should certainly be doing more of it!

In the weeks after Franc’s adoption of Kyi Kyi and his first meeting with Geshe Wangpo, I paid special attention to the status quo at Café Franc. Marcel and Kyi Kyi were now a confirmed double act, the two dogs sharing a basket under the counter and being taken for walks together. Gone was Kyi Kyi’s lank hair and scrawny appearance, replaced by bright-eyed mischief.

I was relieved that there was no perceptible change in behavior toward me. I was still Rinpoche, the Dalai Lama’s Cat, occupying the best shelf in the house and fed the tastiest morsels from each day’s plat du jour.

But the change in Franc was impossible to miss. The very first time I saw him after we circumambulated the temple, I noticed immediately that the gold Om was gone from his ear. Looking down at his wrist, I saw that he had also removed the blessing strings. Obviously he had taken to heart Geshe Wangpo’s pointed references to fake Rolexes and decided that the authentic version, though much more difficult to acquire, was preferable.

Every morning Franc would arrive at work half an hour later than in the past, following an early morning meditation session. He also took to wearing a baseball cap that stayed on his head throughout the day and into the evening. At first I couldn’t work out what was going on with the cap. But once, when he removed it briefly to scratch his head, I noticed a layer of fuzz. As his hair grew longer, the caricature of his former self began to fade. There were fewer references to Buddhist this and Dharma that. He rarely pointed out that I was the Dalai Lama’s cat and didn’t once mention the origin of Kyi Kyi, the newest member of the Café Franc household.

In the curious way that karma works, Franc’s metamorphosis couldn’t have been better timed.

One day at noon, an earnest-looking couple arrived at the café and worked their way through the luncheon menu. Dressed in modest taupe colors and ascetic in appearance, they seemed like just another pair of Western intellectuals doing their India tour. Perhaps he was a lecturer in Pali Buddhist Studies from some American campus. Perhaps she taught Ashtanga yoga or was a vegan chef at an alternative health center. From the way they chewed their food mindfully, they seemed to be treating the Café Franc experience very seriously.

It was only an hour and a half later, when their dessert plates had been cleared and their coffee cups were almost empty, that the male of the pair summoned Franc with a surprisingly assertive jab of his right index finger. This wasn’t the first time the two men had spoken. He had already grilled Franc extensively before choosing his main course, an experience Franc had managed with newfound graciousness.

“Just thought I would properly introduce myself,” he said in cultivated New England tones. “Charles Hayder of Hayder’s Food Guides.”