R.S.J. (or High Bishop of the Church of Funk, as he prefers to be known) came into our lives after attempting to perpetrate some low-level fraud at the hospital's expense. Much like his predecessor (how do these people keep finding us?), R.S.J./H.B.o.t.C.o.F proved to be an extraordinarily inept criminal. He came in wearing a fake mustache/glasses combo and a trench coat, then tried to con Cynthia into giving him a prescription for catnip, which he claimed was "totally medicinal, man."
Once unmasked, he made a run for it. Unfortunately (for him) he became disoriented and fled straight into our fountain room, where he's been living ever since. Every time someone comes in to clean his litter box, he yells something about "squatter's rights" and dives straight for the nearest bowl of half-eaten cat food. We still aren't sure if he realizes he's inside a vet hospital.
R.S.J./H.B.o.t.C.o.F's hobbies include (and actually are limited to):
-Drinking ice water to "balance his humours."
-Drinking non-ice water to "re-balance his humours." (Don't ask)
If you'd like to (though we can't imagine why you would), you can follow Rojo Super Jerry's misadventures on his own personal Instagram page.