Last week there was a story in one of your sister papers about a suspected serial cat killer prowling the tony neighborhoods of Palm Beach. Worry is rampant, the worry being that this social deviant may be using cats as batting practice before he or in this case she, turns up the heat targeting the upper echelon of the food chain. But only one mangled cat has been detected so far and to my way of thinking one mangled cat does not a serial killer make. On the other hand, one likely scenario is the cat was given a buzz cut by a lawn mower while enjoying the affects of cat nip. Another is, the cat may be a med student's experiment gone awry. Dr. Koop has fessed up, admitting to opening up alley cats as a boy, to see what made them tick, so the assumption is totally plausible. And if the medical student panicked, dumping his or her mistake rather than taking it to a gator farm, well then, there you have it. Mystery solved. But we both know that life is not that simple. Oh it used to be, before the likes of Bernie Madoff or as he likes to call himself Bernie "I'm Surprised I'm Still Alive" Madoff. Now to the average Moe, Bernie Madoff means less than that dead Palm Beach stray. But to the upscale, Bernie is a cheese grater scraping across their collective hides morning, noon and night, at every turn. Bernie the Arsonist burned a lot of rich folk, changing a lot of lifestyles. So rather than being concerned about a dead cat, I'd be more concerned about the cat or cats that have gone missing, remaining undetected, if I lived in Palm Beach. So if unlike me, you get an invitation to attend a grand Palm Beach dinner party, know that the Brazilian Tangerine Garter Snake stir fry may not be as exotic as it sounds. And the magnum of Dom, served to wash it down, just may be carbonated Ripple in disguise. Of course if the party is at Bernie's, then you know its the Real McCoy. Right?

Johnny Transistor,
June 14, 2009