The Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat 2)
The driver’s door opened and out stepped a recognizable figure in a dark jacket and gray cap. It was none other than the Maharajah himself. Sid and Ludo rushed over to where he was opening the trunk of the car and pulled out two more large extinguishers. Brandishing the new tank, Ludo led the Maharajah’s staff into the neighbor’s house, while Sid and the Maharajah went into Ludo’s. Two students grabbed the remaining extinguishers and followed them inside.
In less than a minute, all that remained of the fire were streams of dark, foamy liquid pouring down the sides of both houses and into the street, and the acrid smell of smoke and chemical fumes. In the distance we could hear a siren as the fire engine drew closer.
After the Maharajah and his two attendants left, the fire department surveyed the damage. Several support posts had been badly burned, and until they were replaced the balcony would be unsafe. The furniture had slid to one side, where the floor looked as if it might give way at any moment. Looking around the building that had been both his home and yoga studio for several decades, Ludo seemed relieved that it hadn’t been completely destroyed. Despite the damage, he said things could have been much, much worse.
“If it hadn’t been for the Maharajah,” observed Serena, adjusting her favorite scarf around her shoulders, “who knows how things could have ended?”
There were murmurs of assent. Ludo and Sid exchanged a meaningful glance.
The students filtered back into the building, gathering as on evenings past, but on this occasion inside. Serena had ordered takeaway from the Himalaya Book Café, and large cardboard boxes of pizza were being passed around, along with a nerve-steadying carafe of red wine.
“What I’m trying to work out,” mused Sukie, “is how the Maharajah knew about the fire.”
“Perhaps someone phoned him,” suggested Ewing.
“He’s said to be very community minded,” someone added.
“I’ve heard that, too,” agreed Serena. “And he often seems to walk down this street in the evening. Maybe he saw the fire himself.”
“Whatever the case, I’m not sure how I can possibly thank him for saving my house,” said Ludo.
“He didn’t want to stay for a glass of wine?” asked Merrilee in her smoker’s voice, refreshing her own glass.
“He probably doesn’t drink,” said Sid. “And he’s very private. Doesn’t like a fuss.”
“I’ll have to arrange a personal meeting to thank him,” proposed Ludo.
“Much better,” agreed Sid. “But I think you are forgetting the real hero of the evening, without whom the fire would have done so much more damage before anyone even knew what was happening.”
There was a pause before they all turned to look at me.
“Swami!”
“You are right,” Ludo said, rising from his chair and coming over to where I was sitting next to Serena. He seemed to prostrate as he knelt on the rug in front of me.
“I don’t think I will ever forget the sound you made,” he said, stroking me appreciatively.
“Spine-chilling,” remarked Merrilee with a shudder.
“Gave me goose bumps,” said Sukie.
“You wonder how they know,” mused Carlos, adjusting his trademark bandanna.
“Oh, I think cats know more than we give them credit for,” said Ludo. “A lot more than we even recognize ourselves.”
It was a moment before Serena said, “As we were discussing at the café earlier.”
Ludo, Sid, and several others nodded in agreement.
For the benefit of those who hadn’t been at lunch, Serena repeated what the eminent biologist had said about the consciousness of animals. “He told us that animals have the ability to perceive certain things imperceptible to humans.”
Apparently, we are sentient in ways that most people never for a moment stop to consider.
“I once heard about a pet pig,” said Ewing, “who woke up his owners by pulling off their bedcovers one night. The house was on fire, and they were sleeping through it. They reckon the pig saved their lives.”
“Just like Swami helped save the studio and my home,” observed Ludo.
“Do you think it was the scent of the fire she noticed?” asked a yogi called Jordan.