And now a encrypted message from my cat

I should let my cat write my paper. That is the conclusion I reached tonight, as I sweated over grammar and fretted over punctuation. As I was stewing, my cat jumped onto the desk, sat on the keyboard, and typed a series of numbers with his butt. It looked like it could have been a sequence of data from the latest Mars rover, which landed successfully over the weekend. For all I know, he works for NASA. It is possible my cat could be a lot smarter than he looks. Then again, probably not.

Still, I wonder if my butt could do any better. I've never actually tried typing with my butt. I'm not sure I would have much control. In the way of all geniuses and Olympic athletes, my cat made it look so easy. He wasn't even watching what he was typing—talk about touch-typing. More like blind, fingerless touch-typing. Typing by instinct. Writing elevated to the level of I don't care what I am writing, talk to the butt.

I doubt I could do any better, really. My butt is a double-wide trailer compared to his petite derriere. Plus his butt is so... furry. (I guess if I live long enough my butt might grow furry too, sort of like my upper lip is doing.) I'm not sure if furriness has an effect on typing ability. I'll let you know if I ever find out.

Oh, oh, here he comes again. I think he might have something to add to this blog. I will leave it to your superior intelligence to interpret the following syntactical string:

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm0.00000012222222222222112111