... or, you know, Roger Clemens.
Poor Runtman had to go back on the steroids. The over-the-counter stuff was working for a while, then it wasn't. (For those of you who are new (hi!), The Runt is one of my cats. He developed inhaled-allergy problems earlier this summer.)
I don't know why I'm so disappointed. I guess it's a combination of hating to watch him dig and twitch and scratch when we thought we had this all figured out, and the fact that he's only two. Two! He's just a baybee cat, too young to have all these med problems.
Poor dude.
But! He did manage to catch a gigantor dragonfly last night, so he can't be feeling too poorly.
Oh! And that dragonfly was HUGE. And it's so funny; The Runt'll swat 'em right down out of the air, and then carry them around in his mouth while they're still buzzing madly. That's got to be a strange feeling, a dragonfly all a-buzz in your mouth, but he does it all the time. Weirdo.
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