"Now, don't you go pissin' Jella Stewart-Pattinson! Okay?"

Dear Diary,

I was pissed!  Truly, I was. 

Lies.  All lies… They can’t even get their stories straight.  Dagnabit!

Well, dear D., I’m sure you’re wondering why I was upset and what I was talking about.  It’s like this.  Every time my dad & mom surf the net, outrageous stories about them pop up the screen.  Some made them laugh.  Others displeased them.  The rest were just plain lies; some shit these so-called writers managed to come up with after conducting a bogus interview with their “trusted source” in their mind.  LOL.  They are their own source.  Weird!

So, to help these magazines and tabloids write the truth, I thought it’s time for me to speak up.  It’s time for truth!  No more lies!  I’m sick of it.  In order to do this I sought the help of Dr. Doolittle and a well renowned Asian animal psychic, Mr. Moda Faka.  I was positive that they’d be able to talk to me, hear me, understand me, and translate for me. 

First, I met with Dr. Doolittle.

Dr. Doolittle:  *In hyper voice*  “So what’s ya name?”

Me:  *In my calm meow*  “It’s Jella, Sir. J-E-L-L-A!”  (Damn, I ‘m a good speller!).

Dr. Doolittle:  *Laughed too happily*  “Oh,  you have a good name.  It’s very chocolate-y.”

Me:  *Confused*  “Err… Chocolate-y?”

Dr. Doolittle:  “Yeah.  Nutella.  Love that stuff!  Good name for a cat.”

Me:  *Rolled my eyes*  “It’s Jella!  Do you need me to meow louder?  Is it my accent?”  (I was meowing a little stressed-out at this point).  “I know I now meow with British accent because my dad is British but I never really thought it’s that strong.  Probably because even my mom speaks like my dad now.”

Dr. Doolittle:  *Stared at me*  “Whoa!  That’s a long speech there, Kitty Cat!”

Kitty-freakin-cat?!? That did it for me!  If my paws landed on his, um, arm… that’s not entirely my fault.  How dare he mock me that way?  I know… I know… I was too sensitive.  But, please, Dear D., don’t blame me.  I was desperate and I thought Dr. Doolittle was totally gifted.  I shouldn’t have trusted that rat who told me about him; and I even spared that rat’s life!  Freakin-ey!

 Anyhoo— There was this one time, I was staying with Uncle Tom, keeping him company while my Mom and Dad went to this Spa place in Ojai, “heating things up” as Uncle Tom explained to me; and we were watching this show with lotsa Asian people in it and I saw this TV commercial about Mr. Moda Faka, an Asian animal psychic.  He was awesome.  Uncle Tom was totally digging it!  Not the animal psychic.  The show.  With the skinny, beautiful women in it… Well, it’s a good thing I memorized the number.

So I went to see Mr. Moda Faka.  I think he’s Japanese, but I’m not sure.  And, Oh.My.God.  He’s effing amazing!  He was conversing with me in my head.  First, he greeted me, just looking into my Kristen-like green eyes (kidding!).  But he did stare at my eyes, okay?  We stared at each other for half an hour, conversing in silence.  His dark brown eyes probing, reading my thoughts through my eyes.  I have goosebumps reminiscing that moment.

Our silent conversation went like this:

Mr. Faka:  “So, you want the world to know how much your mother, Kristen, loves your dad, Rob; and how doting your dad is to your mom… and vise versa?”

Me:  “Yes, Mr. Faka.”

Mr. Faka:  “And how totally devoted your dad and mom are to each other?”

Me:  “Yes, Mr. Faka.”

Mr. Faka:  “And your mom will drop everything for your dad.  That she is a mature woman who takes care of your dad like he’s her prince... Because she's his princess?”

Me:  “MODA FAKA, you’re the best!  Yes!”

The conversation went on and on and he did read my thoughts.  I was almost in tears.  He never once muttered one word.  Moda Faka just looked straight into my eyes and totally read my mind. 

Then, an hour later… It was time for me to ask Moda Faka to write my thoughts.  I smelled victory for a moment, Dear Diary.  But then… Mr. Faka started speaking.  He spoke words that sounded gibberish and alien to me.  I thought he was angry at first.  But then he smiled.  Then, talked again… Then rolled his 'R's, and nodding his head.  My heart fell.  Then, he looked straight into my eyes again and he told me this: 

Mr. Faka:  “You may think I speak your language but I don't.  Thoughts are universal.  I hear your thoughts.  I understand them.  But I’m sorry.  I don’t speak English.”

Me:  “Please, Mr. Faka.  Find a translator.  Talk to her in your language and she will translate everything in English… Well, if you speak British, I’ll translate my thoughts in British.  I’m bi-lingual.  I speak the American and British language.”

Mr. Faka:  *Shaking his head*  “As it is, everyone is laughing at my profession.  People think I’m crazy.  With all the information I got from you about the most famous couple in the world, I could sell this story and earn big bucks.  But who would believe me if I tell them my source was a cat?”

Me:  “Yes.  A cat!  But not just any cat.  I am Jella Stewart-Pattinson!  I belong to Kristen and Robert Pattinson!”

But that didn’t do me any good,  my Dear Diary.  Moda Faka refused my pleadings but I totally understood his point.

A few days ago, my mom cooked a special meal for my dad…

Dad:  “Baby, this is delicious!” *Reached for the salt shaker*

Mom:  “Honey, what are you doing?”

Dad:  “I just want to add salt.”

Mom:  “No, you’re not.”

Dad:  “Just a little bit…”  *Started to put salt on his food*

Mom:  “Robert Thomas Douglas Pattinson!  Lay off that salt shaker.  Now!”

Dad:  *Quietly dropped the salt and ate silently*

Mom:  *Sighed, got up, and sat on my dad’s lap*  “Baby, you’re not mad at me are you?”

Dad:  *Remained quiet but wound his arms around my mom’s waist*

Mom:  “I just… I just want you healthy.  That’s all.  I love you.”

And that made it all okay. 

Caring…loving… 

And I felt so much better. 

So what if these dumbos write lies about my mom and dad.  The thing is, my parents are happy.   

They could write about how my mom went out Christmas Eve in Soho in L.A.; while my dad was in London… When in truth, they’re both together that very moment… 

They could write that they’ve broken up 100 times a week… When in truth, they’re more solid, stronger than ever... 

They could write about how not ready my mom is to settle down or commit herself to my dad… When in truth, she’d already given and committed her self to my dad… 

I won’t be upset anymore, dear diary.  Who fucking cares what they think and write!  I know the truth. 

But I will never forget my experience with Dr. Doolittle and Moda Faka!

Like my parents, I’m chillin.  Just lovin’!

Until next time…

Sincerely,

Jella “The Zen Master” Stewart-Pattinson

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No copyright infringement intended.

This is fiction.

Thank you.