I HAD TO PLAY DUMB...

Jazie Miles Davis getting ready to send a tweet.

We have a beloved tabby cat called Jazzie. This three-year old feline is my shadow and my nap buddy. He also helps me write, snuggled on the chair, his head resting against my leg, his soft snores creating a soothing rhythm.

Still, I have to keep an eye on him. More than once while I was in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee or sneaking a cookie or four, he's gotten on Twitter and begged for treats.

You see, the cat has the same genetic abnormality that my youngest son had in his teen years. A bottomless stomach. Who knew?

Calvin has Jazzie on a diet. When he runs, his stomach sways from side to side. The cat's, not Calvin's. Our furry fella has five requirements in life: food and lots of it; fresh water; a clean liter box; our bed made right away in the morning so he can take a mid-morning nap on smoothed bed linens; and his own Twitter account. Calvin grumbles that the cat has more followers than he. Hey, what can I say?

At Calvin's insistence, I've stopped buying Jazzie treats. Well, except for the emergency bag I have hidden in the drawer. You know, for special times like this week. I can't stand to celebrate alone. When I got the email that Storm's Interlude was voted Book of the Week at LASR, Jazzie got three treats. And when I got the email that my short story Those Violet Eyes was accepted into the Honky Tonk Hearts Series at The Wild Rose Press, he got four treats. Six treats hit the floor when I got notification TWRP wanted to publish my romantic suspense, Mona Lisa's Room.

So when Calvin stopped in his tracks this evening, tilted his head to the side and asked, "Does the cat look fatter to you?" Well, I had to play dumb. I mean, what choice did I have?