The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Power of Meow (The Dalai Lama's Cat 3)

“But he hasn’t done any media today.”

“Yes, he has.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“How would you know, anyway?”

“I ought to know what the Dalai Lama does—I’m his cat!”

“Who’s the Dalai Lama?”

Was he trying to play mind games? Was this some canine attempt at humor?

Fixing him with the full power of my sapphire-blue gaze, I told him simply, “The Dalai Lama is His Holiness.”

“No he isn’t! The pope is.”

We arrived at the same aha moment at the same time.

“So,” I said after a pause. “Your Holiness lives in Rome?”

“Naturally. Where does yours live?”

“India.”

“You don’t look very Indian to me.”

“That’s because I’m Himalayan. For that matter, you don’t seem very Italian.”

“That’s because I’m Irish. A wolfhound.”

“I’m pleased we’ve cleared that up.”

There was a pause while we both stared at our screens.

“So . . .” The other cocked his head with a waggish look on his face. “What’s your Holiness like?”

“Wonderful!” I told him. Then, wanting to confirm just how closely I was connected to him, I bragged, “I sleep on his bed at night.”

“Me, too,” replied the dog. “I mean, I sleep on my Holiness’s bed.”

“He lives very simply,” I continued.

“Mine, too.”

“Spends a lot of time meditating each morning and reading texts.”

“Mine, too.”

Was he going to keep on doing this?

“What does your Holiness teach about, mainly?” I decided to test him.

The other raised a hind leg and scratched his ear thoughtfully before replying, “Love and compassion.”

“Mine, too,” I said.

For another long moment we sat, staring at each other, unsure what else to say. Then HHD declared with an unexpected generosity of spirit, “Have to say, you’re quite cool for a cat. Most cats are so high and mighty.”