I'm bigger than my cat. Stronger than him. Smarter than him. But giving him a pill is a test of sheer willpower, and in that I am completely outmatched.
It's like every cell in his body is repurposed into a perfect machine, the singular goal of which is not taking a pill. He becomes liquid when I try to hold him down, then instantly transforms into a spring-loaded pill shooter once I get his mouth open. One time, through incredible effort, I managed to do it without losing any blood. I watched the pill go down his throat. The next day I found it caked in his neck fluff, as though his body detected its presence and morphed around it, rejecting it at a cellular level.
He doesn't need a lot of pills, but after years of blissful cat ownership punctuated by epic, disastrous pill-giving, the vet finally revealed that he could take liquid medicine from a little dropper. So that's much better.