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

And I realized I had misunderstood him completely. He may appear rough and ready, but he had a very good heart. He may be large and strong, but he could be very gentle, too. And what he had just said revealed a level of insight that was utterly unexpected.

Leaning down, I placed my right shoulder on the grass, then flopped completely over and onto the ground. I reached out my arms and legs, stretching them as far as they’d go, then rolled onto my back.

Looking down, the driver chuckled. He placed a single, glove-covered index finger under my chin and stroked me softly.

“I think you like to grow sunflowers, Mousie Tung,” he said.

And do you know what, dear reader? For the first time, I didn’t even mind him calling me that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My visits to the garden became more frequent after my encounter with the driver. The welcoming catnip and the recognition that the driver was actually quite a special person both made me feel at home. The garden was no longer a place I visited only occasionally—it became part of my territory.

One afternoon, I was coming down the steps after a roll in the catnip when something occurred to me that I should have worked out long before. Was it not on this same road, only somewhat farther down, that Serena had said Sid bought a bungalow? I realized I was only a short walk away from the renovation project that had become the cause of her recent unhappiness.

A thought suddenly struck me: should I explore a little to see if I could find it?

Do cats eat tuna?

Or, to put it another way: is the Dalai Lama a Buddhist?

With an added spring in my step, I continued along the road. Even though I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, I found the possibility of discovering Serena and Sid’s new home intriguing.

Past the nursing home, there was a ragtag row of shops. After that, the road became more suburban. Driveways snaked off the side of the road toward houses that were set back far from it, some behind fences, others in the open for all the world to see. Few people were walking along the pavement there, and as I explored beyond the farthest point I’d ever been, I noticed how the mood of the place seemed to change. It felt like you were no longer in a town but had segued into the country. The road at this point, I noticed, was called Tara Crescent.

Huge pine trees whispered surreptitiously to one another across the road. The verges were lush with verdant foliage and the exotic perfumes of a dozen unknown flowers had my nostrils twitching with interest. At the entrance to one property, Number 21, was a sign for Patel Construction. Looking down the driveway, I could see no house, but I noticed a Dumpster filled with building refuse. Among the assorted pieces of plasterboard and concrete was a cardboard cup branded with the logo of the Himalaya Book Café.

Discarded on a visit by Serena, perhaps?

Cautiously, I ventured inside. The driveway was made from gravel, so I walked beside it, along the flattened grass that bordered it. I peered around, but the whole place was overgrown. The grass was long and the shrubs were growing wild, so it was impossible to see where I was going. Then the driveway turned, the wild undergrowth fell away, and I found myself looking at a most unusual sight. In front of me was a raised, rambling bungalow with white walls and a spacious wraparound veranda, which looked charmingly old-fashioned and eminently explorable. A crenellated tower that rose from one wing of the house immediately caught my attention. It stretched up two stories and was shrouded with ivy. Near its top was a room with wide picture windows on all four sides. The perfect viewing platform, I imagined, from which to observe the sun, moon, and stars commune with the ice-peaked Himalayas that ranged above and behind the house.

For a long while I paused, taking everything in. The house was set in an established garden featuring tall palms, bougainvillea bushes with cascades of crimson and purple flowers, and a plantation of pine trees to the back. The landscape suggested all manner of hidden arcadian treasures. Even though the property was deserted—and evidently had been for some time—it had a curiously bewitching quality.

I continued along the driveway and up a few sandstone steps to the veranda. A layer of fine concrete dust and footprints of boot tread seemed to confirm that this was the house Serena and Sid were having renovated. A few old cane chairs sat near the entrance; I sniffed at one and instantly detected Serena’s perfume.

I began imagining the two of them living here, in a house with a tower, j

ust a short distance along the road from Namgyal and my garden. It seemed almost too good to be true. Another instance of the deep, karmic bond that held Serena and I together playing out. I had yet to discover what my connection to Sid was, but I had no doubt that it was equally powerful: I had felt drawn to him from the very first time our eyes met.

Glancing about with the keenest curiosity, I couldn’t help but notice that a short distance away, along the wall, was a half-open window. It was angled out just enough to accommodate a small—if somewhat fluffy—body. I soon made my way to it and hopped up onto the ledge, then jumped inside and landed with my usual ungainly thud.

I found myself in a room that was large, vacant, and musty. With nothing of interest to a cat, I headed toward an open door, a patina of dust gathering on the velvet pads of my paws. A corridor outside, similarly stark, led through the house. I followed it and soon began to lose track of time as I wandered through empty chambers, up and down short flights of stairs, around corners, and onto different levels. I occasionally branched out into other passageways that seemed in some way promising. The house had the feel of a place that had been there since time immemorial—a home of great antiquity. Once it was furnished, it would be transformed into a labyrinth of curiosities. Every cat’s dream.

In one room I discovered French doors that led to a small courtyard. It was open to the sky, with a pond—currently stagnant—in the center. Fish? I wondered. Through the glass, I stared at the clouded, green water, searching for a glint beneath the surface. In another large, oval-shaped room, I found a piano like Franc’s, except it stood on three legs and was draped in a heavy canvas cover. This must be a “grand,” I decided, recollecting the kind used by performers at the Royal Albert Hall during the BBC World Service broadcasts I watched with Tenzin.

I was in a different, empty room when an extraordinary encounter occurred. I had crossed the room to inspect the fireplace, wondering if it might yield some olfactory clue about the previous occupants, when I heard a rustle behind me. I turned to see a little girl in a white dress standing in the hallway. She was the most exquisite creature I’d ever seen. But was she real? It felt, almost, as if I was seeing a ghost—although one of the most delightful kind. There was something so powerfully familiar and yet spectral about her appearance that I hardly knew what to make of her. With her glowing brown eyes, cute snub nose, and dark, shoulder-length hair, she seemed to be everything that was beautiful gathered into one.

I am not, dear reader, a fan of children. My wonky rear legs make it painful for me to be mishandled—being dropped as a kitten by a street urchin in Delhi caused the wonkiness in the first place. My usual reaction when seeing a child is to make myself scarce.

My feeling now, however, couldn’t have been more different. I stood staring at her—and she at me—for the longest time. I had the most curious sensation, and I know it was the same for her, too. It was a palpable shiver of recognition.

Then she was racing across the room to me. Instead of scrambling away, I waited eagerly for her approach. As she drew closer, Serena appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Careful, Zahra, or she’ll run away.”

Zahra scooped me into her arms and held me belly up, like a human baby. It was a pose from which I’d usually wriggle free—but not now. Not with her looking down at me. Leaning down to kiss my forehead.

Shyly, she looked up to where Serena, who had been joined by Sid, was watching. She realized they were witnessing something most unusual.