The muse of The Dalai Lama's Cat

Wussik soon after we met, before the days of digital cameras, smartphones - and the harsh, Australian sun had bleached my hair (!) I had no idea at all that this imperious, quirky, adorable little creature was about to inspire my most popular books.

Whenever I meet groups of readers, one of the first questions they ask is: “Do you have a cat?’ This is closely followed by: “Is the Dalai Lama’s Cat based on a real one?”

I guess that Substack readers may have exactly the same questions, so I thought that this may be a good place to answer them. And those of you with no particular interest in cats – that’s fine, you’re forgiven! – can skip to the end of the post where you’ll find the link to an article with a stronger Dharma theme - the fascinating life story of Atisha.

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Right now, my wife Koala and I have no pets. It’s a deliberate decision because we take our animal responsibilities seriously and we are planning travel over the next couple of years. We’re not able to offer the continuity of care that we would like. It’s a bit sad coming home to an empty house, but we do dog-sit a fair bit for friends who travel, which has given us insight into breeds, temperaments – and the importance of training!

For most of my life, however, I’ve had wonderful pets. Among my very first memories are Pandy, the Siamese, sharing my playpen, and playing with corgis – my mother was a fan of the breed. I also raised rabbits, guinea pigs, white mice, hamsters and cockatiels. Growing up in what is now Zimbabwe, in my teen years I also spent some vacations volunteering at the local Lion & Cheetah Park where I had the privilege of helping care for a variety of buck, a Galapagos tortoise – allegedly over 250 years old and weighing over half a tonne – as well as orphaned lion cubs. I have always been an animal lover. Dr. Doolittle was my childhood hero.

There was no place for pets once I’d left home and moved to London. For ten years I was without any of that contact – except one memorable white-out weekend, when we found a tiny kitten huddled behind the garbage bin outside. It rarely snows in London. Quite how the kitten found himself there we have no idea. We leafleted the local neighbourhood to no avail. But within a week we found ‘Archie’ a wonderful family home in the countryside.

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I didn’t realise how much I had missed contact with animals until we moved to Perth, Koala’s hometown. Renting a house to see if the place suited us as a couple, I will never forget that autumn afternoon when the most adorable Himalayan cat came wobbling around the side of our house into our back garden. Immediately, I was lying on my back on the lawn and coaxing her over. It felt almost miraculous to me that a creature as gorgeous as she was had appeared seemingly from nowhere. She had the most lustrous, fluffy cream coat, charcoal face, ears and paws, and dazzling blue eyes. I was smitten.

Our visitor was curious if not especially friendly, sniffing my hand with a hesitant, bobbing motion, before wandering away to explore the garden. We assumed she was a neighbour’s cat and that the rental property was part of her domain. But our enthusiasm for the place moved up quite a few notches!

In the garden of our rental property

In the weeks that followed we saw more of her, each of her unheralded appearances feeling like the greatest of privileges. She wouldn’t only appear in the garden. She would stroll through the back door into the house, without the faintest sign of nervousness, to check up on us. On the contrary, she seemed somehow to carry the assured expectation that she’d receive a warm welcome. An assumption that was quite correct!

There was a cat-flap in the kitchen door which we made sure was unlocked, and as the colder, rainy season arrived, she began making use of it. Being unsteady on her hind legs, her entrances would be accompanied by a loud clatter. She appeared never to notice either her clunkiness, or the results of it, always retaining her highbred poise. At the same time, she was very vulnerable, but it took us a while to work this out.

One stormy night, when I was away in Africa, Koala heard the crashing of the cat-flap and little Wussik – as we’d taken to calling her – appeared, drenched and meowing plaintively. Koala soon towelled her dry, offered her food and milk, and placed her in front of a heater. It was to be the first of many a sleep-over. By the time I got back, Wussik had become a daily visitor.

She made clear the assumed reach of her occupation when, meditating one morning shortly afterwards in my study, I heard her scratching at the door. I ignored it trying – in vain - to retain my focus. She scratched again. And a third time, prolonged and demanding. Realising that there was to be no reprieve, I got up and used a door-jam to hold it ajar just wide enough for her fluffy form. She came and sat quietly with me as I sat.

From that day on, when I meditate, I have never closed the door on any pet that wants to join me. Cats seem more attracted to a calm, settled meditator than dogs, who generally don’t like being ignored, but this is not always so. As all animal lovers know, you can make as many generalisations as you like about a species, but ultimately, we are all individuals, with our own distinct personalities – and karma.  

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On a wingback chair after a summer trim

Koala and I worked out where Wussik came from. Right next door to us was a beautiful home with a family who also had a Chihuahua. The much-loved Chihuahua terrorised wonky Wussik, but had no way of pursuing her into our property, where she would flee.  But ours was no safe haven. There were a couple of aggressive, territorial cats in the area who would beat-up Wussik. After a particularly brutal encounter, she came into the house, miserable and bloodied. Her tail was limp. Koala and I were in a quandary: she needed the vet, but we weren’t her owners.

Scooping her into our arms, we took her next door and spoke to her owners, who we had already met casually, about her injuries. They were unmoved. She’ll be right, they said. No vet was needed. But if we wanted to take her to one to be checked over, that was fine by them.

So we did. And ended up having to leave her overnight so she could be sedated and her multiple injuries cleaned and stitched. She came back to us with two drains coming out of tail wounds and a warning that she had been bitten so deeply that she may never use her tail again. Her wounds healed quickly, however, as cat skin does, and as the weeks went by, Koala and I were relieved to see her gradually recover full use of her bushy grey tail.

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After a year of renting, we decided we’d stay in Perth. We bought a house and the date came to move. There was no question about Wussik coming with us – she was practically living with us by then. But what to do about formal ownership?

We decided to do the right thing, and went next door armed with a chequebook. It was a short conversation at the front door. We’re moving, we said, and we’d like to take the cat. Feel free, they said. The dog and the cat don’t get on: we’ve been trying to get rid of her for years.

Which was how Wussik came to live with us, spending the first three days terrified under the duvet, refusing the come out, except to attend to the calls of nature – and to eat. When she finally did emerge, however, it was to a pure land free of Chihuahuas and aggressive intruders, a domain where she was worshipped as a flawed but magnificent deity by her human devotees. After a delayed start, she soon made herself at home.

Passed out in the spring sunshine on the veranda of her new home

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Unlike many cats who vanish the moment unknown people arrive, Wussik didn’t mind human visitors. There were times she was delighted by them. When we had barbecues and our garden was full of people, the wonky Lilliputian would make her unsteady way through this sea of giants, expecting them to part – which they unfailingly did - directly to where the men were gathered around the barbie. Koala and I are vegetarians, but some of our friends would bring meat to cook. Smelling the latter, and assuming some of it must be for her, she’d make her presence felt – biting an ankle if necessary. She would always be picked up to survey the goings-on, before being rewarded with slices of whatever was on offer.

On a warm day, she’d sprawl in the middle of the passage runner, and if people walked past without showing acknowledging her, she’d reach out to bat them. I was on the receiving end of many such a klupping.

Such was her odd way of walking that the teenaged friend of a nephew, trying to make conversation, once asked us “How is your disabled cat?” The temerity, dear reader! On one heart-stopping occasion, a neighbour named Jane rushed to tell us that our cat must have been hit by a car. We turned to see Wussik strolling calmly along the pavement outside our house. Jane, who had spent many an evening in our home, had only ever seen Wussik sprawled on a sofa or rug, and didn’t realise that was just how she moved. As we discussed this, a group of  dog-walkers and others gathered in a neighbourly way on the verge, when Jane looked at Wussik: “And what is she doing now?”

With exquisite timing, Wussik had sat, shifted a hind leg up and was licking her nether regions.

“Playing the cello,” I told her.

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A celestial snow lion complete with halo!

I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate more on Wussik’s personality. She is the Dalai Lama’s Cat. Many of His Holiness’s Cat’s exploits are based on incidents that involved Wussik. Why make things up when you can be authentic?

When I heard that His Holiness once had a cat, it got me thinking about the fascinating life such a cat would lead, observing the constant flow of VIP visitors to the Dalai Lama, and eavesdropping on the great variety of conversations they would have. What if this cat were to write a book?

The curious thing is that on my first attempt, my cat’s narrative voice was just too, well, catty. I put the draft in the metaphorical bottom drawer and didn’t think any more about it. Until one day, meditating, the obvious occurred to me: write as if it were Wussik speaking! That, dear reader, was the narrative key that unlocked the door for all six books that have followed.

While there is no seventh book in the works, I love revisiting His Holiness’s Cats narrative voice which I do right here on Substack, with short stories and ‘mouse-size musings.’

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A part of my heart will always belong to Wussik. She came into our lives at a pivotal time. The relationship I had with her was unique and extraordinary. And the impact she has had on my work has been profound: without her, there would be no Dalai Lama’s Cat books – now translated into 35 languages - or any of the other writing that has arisen directly or indirectly from them.

Was she even a cat at all, I sometimes ask myself, or actually the manifestation of a Buddha, a wonky, but feisty little snow lion, who came to influence me, and through me, readers of my books?

A few of my favourite foreign language cover editions

When she died, in 2011, I felt bereft. But I have always had the consolation of knowing that the karma she had created, through her inspiring presence in my life, was of the most powerful and positive kind. Wherever she is now, I have absolutely no doubt that it is in a much better state than when she appeared around the side of the house on that first, autumn afternoon when I lay on the lawn, trying to lure this dazzling, blue-eyed beauty towards me.

I have no doubt that we will meet again, hopefully not as human and feline, but in a more transcendent state. And when we do, I trust that it will be a time of boundless joy and wonder.

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If you have time, this long weekend, to read about Atisha, a pivotal person in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, I hope you are inspired by the following story:

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About half the money readers help me raise through subscriptions goes to the following four charities. Feel free to click on the underlined links to read more about them:

Wild is Life - home to endangered wildlife and the Zimbabwe Elephant Nursery; Twala Trust Animal Sanctuary - supporting indigenous animals as well as pets in extremely disadvantaged communities; Dongyu Gyatsal Ling Nunnery - supporting Buddhist nuns from the Himalaya regions; Gaden Relief - supporting Buddhist communities in Mongolia, Tibet, Nepal and India.