The Art of Purring (The Dalai Lama's Cat 2)

“A rare gift.”

Tenzin nodded. “Tough act to follow.”

Lobsang was massaging my forehead with his fingertips, just the way I liked it. “I take it he didn’t warm to HHC?”

“Didn’t seem to know how to react. It was like she’d arrived from outer space.”

Lobsang chuckled. “So, what did he do?”

“He just ignored her.”

“Ignored? How could he do such a thing to you?” Lobsang looked down into my big blue eyes. “Didn’t he realize you have the final decision?”

“Exactly. Working out who really wields influence is another requirement of the job.”

“And such beings are not always the ones you expect, are they, HHC?”

Two days later, I arrived to find Chogyal’s chair occupied by a mountainous monk with a big, boulder-like head and the longest arms I’d ever seen.

“Oh, yes. And who is this?” Before you could say Om mani padme hum the monk had seized me by the scruff of the neck, lifted me up, and suspended me in midair, slowly strangling me as though I were some brazen intruder.

“That,” explained Tenzin quickly, “is His Holiness’s Cat. HHC. She likes sitting on our filing cabinet.”

“I see.” The giant stood up, grasped me with his other hand, carried me over to the filing cabinet, and thumped me down on it so hard that pain jolted through my tender hindquarters.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he observed, crushing me as he ran his hand down my spine.

I meowed plaintively.

“She’s very delicate,” noted Tenzin. “And much loved.”

As the monk returned to his seat, I shakily surveyed the office. Never before had I been treated so roughly in Jokhang. Never so casually grabbed by the neck and inspected like some zoological exhibit. For the first time I could remember, I actually felt afraid in this office. The monster didn’t know his own strength. He hadn’t meant to hurt me. In putting me on the filing cabinet, he probably thought he was saving me the effort of jumping up there myself. But now all I could think about was how to escape as quickly as possible from the office without him touching me again.

I sat there, anxiously awaiting my moment. While Tenzin worked through the recommendations of a Red Cross proposal, at the desk facing him the Cat Strangler was a whirlwind of activity. E-mails were drafted and documents read. Summary notes were stapled to them—all with great energy. Drawers were slammed shut. The telephone was smashed back in its cradle. The very air in the office jangled with activity, and at one point when Tenzin made a joke, the great monster laughed from his belly, great gusts of hilarity reverberating along the executive floor.

The moment he announced he was going to make himself a coffee and offered to make one for Tenzin, too, I slipped down from the filing cabinet and made my escape. As I hurried away to the Himalaya Book Café much earlier than usual, I found myself thinking how, by comparison, Venerable Monkey Face was infinitely preferable. My feelings had been hurt when he ignored me, but I had come to realize that it was his problem, not mine. On the other hand, the red-robed giant was a physical threat. If he were chosen as Chogyal’s successor, much of my life at Jokhang would be spent trying to avoid him.

And what kind of life was that?

Jangled, I made my way into the comforting environs of the café. With the constant swell and ebb of diners and book buyers, there was always plenty of bustle, but I felt safe here. I had certainly never been rough-handled by a giant—red-robed or otherwise.

Only halfway up the magazine rack to my usual spot on the top shelf, I became aware that something unusual was going on in the corner of the bookstore where we often gathered for our end-of-the-day treats. Serena and Sam were standing close together, whispering in an urgent, confidential manner.

“Who s-s-says so?” Sam was asking.

“Helen Cartwright’s friend knows his sister, Beryle, in San Francisco.”

“And when?”

“Soon, very soon.” Serena’s eyes were wide. “Like, in the next two weeks.”

Sam was shaking his head. “That can’t be right.”

“Why not?”

“He would have told us. E-mailed something.”

“He’s not obliged to.” Serena bit her lip. “He can come back whenever he likes.”