At every Stroebel family gathering, the cousins congregate around the aunts and uncles and parents to hear tales of Stroebel childhood. Here is one of the classic favorites.

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Patches was a monster.

He was born feline, but somewhere along the way he transformed from cat to monstrous fiend.  A black and white beast weighing twenty pounds and made of sheer muscle and scar tissue, he was the neighborhood terror.  He was missing half his jaw after losing it in a fight and had no feeling in his tail because it had been broken, which frequently made him the butt of Dad's and Aunt Linda's jokes since they would take the red tape off bananas and tape his tail to the floor, leaving him to walk in treadmill motion, constantly straining forward and never making it anywhere. 

In the Stroebel household, Aunt Robin was the baby of the family, and in the family pecking order Patches placed himself ahead of Aunt Robin.  Whether he would drink the milk from her cereal bowl before she could eat or take a flying leap at her paper plate during family barbecues (Patches was notorious for ramming his head against the bottom of her plate to send the hot dog flying and snatch it before she could catch it), he made it clear that he placed himself ahead of her.

Back when my dad -- the second oldest of six -- was younger than I am now, Grandma Stroebel would often get phone calls from neighbors that were full of complaints about Patches shredding one of their cats or taking a few chunks out of small dogs.  Even local children feared Patches, and Willy Bishop was among the ranks of those who widely circumvented the neighborhood beast.

One afternoon Willy Bishop stopped by the Stroebel house to visit one of the younger siblings.  Dad and Aunt Linda were in the kitchen when Willy arrived, and Patches was in the corner of the room with ears flatted and growling in all of his half-jawed glory.  Willy eyed Patches nervously.  Aunt Linda didn't fail to notice this.

"Don't worry.  Patches loves little kids."

Willy frowned suspiciously.  "Are you sure?"

Dad grinned a full-toothed, Cheshire smile.  "Oh yes.  They're his favorite meal."

All it took was one more rumble from Patches to send Willy Bishop out the door wailing.  Thus, Patches was named the notorious neighborhood child-eater among the youngsters.