Every autumn, not far from Tabby’s Place, a local Friends Meeting hosts a Peace Fair.
Gentle creatures gather to work, pray, sing Pete Seeger songs, and eat meatless frankfurters.
Pax‘s invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
In Latin, Pax’s name means “peace.” Pax thinks that is hilarious. Pax eats irony for breakfast. Irony tastes better than meatless frankfurters. For one, grilled irony doesn’t smell like flatulence. Also, irony doesn’t need ketchup.
It’s not that Pax is opposed to peace. Our black peacock is as much of a dreamer as any dove. If Pax were in charge, the whole world would be at peace.
The trouble is that not everyone understands that Pax is in charge.
Pax’s foster parent understood. She was his peace sign in a time of tumult. Life in Beirut was precarious. Her kindness told a bigger story. And, when a chance came for Pax to find grace at Tabby’s Place, she told Animals Lebanon a few key points for his peace treaty:
“All he ever wants is to play.”
“He likes being carried, but only on shoulders (right one, to be specific).”
“He likes to hide from you and scare you when you walk into a room.”
“He does like to lick cheese sometimes.”
“He is not a cuddler.”
“He is invincible.”
Thus, we learned that greatness was inbound: Pax vobiscum, Pax be with you.
“Pax be with you” does not, in this case, translate directly into “peace be with you.” But we have received the greater blessing.
Who wants a droopy olive branch when we can have a tree of life? Yes, it’s true; Pax is a brawler. He will hiss and slap simpletons who are ignorant that he is in charge.
He may have been witnessed smacking cats around like chickpeas. He may have enjoyed such smacking so much, he gave an encore performance for any chickpeas who missed the first one. He may have earned the nickname among the Suite E cats, The Awful Falafel. (When we told them, “Pax vobiscum,” they asked, “Can Pax vobisCalifornia instead?”)
But, remember what his first friend knew: all he ever wants is to play.
Pax’s attacks are not declarations of war, but power surges of life. Our mop-topped miracle does not mean to hurt anyone. It is just that he contains so many comets, fireflies, and opinions, they are bound to burst forth. (We think this is also why his hair is so gloriously long. Maybe he was born a shorthaired kitten, but he was so excited to exist, every follicle turned magical. Also, he is a third cousin of both Albert Einstein and Joey Ramone.)
Even when Pax is goosing Gopher, the meekest rodent at Tabby’s Place, or harassing Hannah, who is as mushy as hummus, or “playing with” Giovanni, who thought he enjoyed playing until he met Pax, Pax is really pursuing peace. (Don’t tell him I said that.)
He dreams the same dream as every little chickpea: a world safe enough to savor the joy, glimpse a better tomorrow from the vantage point of a strong (right) shoulder, lick a little cheese now and then, and trust that love is invincible.
There is only one way to prove that last piece of peace.
You need to poke love, hiss at love, require Prozac to stop biting love, and still hear love say yes.
But, no soggy bean-curd “yes” will satisfy a cat like Pax. Half a “yes” is worse than “no.” Pax knows all about “no.” “No” was his first family’s answer to “Pax vobiscum?” “No” was what happened when he got too excited too many times. So when he came to Tabby’s Place, Pax needed to know that our “yes” was not just a squiggle of cheese on top of a meatless “no.”
Of course, all cats are opposed to the prefix “meatless.” Meatless candy corn and meatless minivans are just as unacceptable as meatless frankfurters. But an invincible cat is especially allergic to the meatless and the meaningless.
The pursuit of peace runs through hard questions.
Little did we know that one of those questions would be, “is Pax going to make it?”
It was a seemingly serene Saturday when Pax could not get peaceful. In and out of the litter box he marched, squatting with no solace.
Our eagle-eyed and aptly named Grace recognized this as the telltale symptom of a urinary blockage, which can swiftly turn fatal. Grace and Vet Tech Drew swooped in like doves, saving Pax just in time. Teardrops tumbled down many cheeks as we realized how close we’d come to losing our Lebanese lion. In another few hours, “Pax vobiscum” may have slipped through our fingers like a fragile peace.
But Pax lived to ride another shoulder.
And now, his brush with war has turned him more peaceful than ever. Which is to say, he purrs, he plays, he bites, he chases Leela like a lentil, he delights in our homage, and he has vivid dreams of going to the Peace Fair with Pete Seeger, and stopping on the way home for a Pax VoBiscuit, Sausage, and Cheese.
It could happen, you know.
He is invincible.