When my wife's cousin moved in with us, so did her cat Charley, aka "Mr. Bitey." Having three felines in the house is nothing we're unaccustomed to, except that this cat is not only the most vocal we've had since Niobe and Trinity - the Bengal twins - and their incessant echolocation, but also the loudest.
Where Marko's size is all fluff-masked-smallishness (and I seriously need to take pictures of this cat now that he's matured and filled out), and obese Tubbs is walrus-like in her numerous layers of fat, "Mr. Bitey" is a densely packed, lengthy and sinewy beast of prey, moving not unlike a panther throughout the house. And unlike my comparatively sedentary cats, this one is always on the move - this picture was part physical intervention and part intense fascination of the blinky-lights on the face of my camera.
Sadly, this cat is a sadist. It purrs - loudly - while biting the shit out of my fingers and hand. There is an unnatural pleasure this animal derives from attempting to maim my dexterous articulation which I would be unaware of excepting the greatly increased frequency and volume of purring. Sure the cat looks innocent enough - don't they all? But no, this cat wants to kill me. He is so lovey-dovey and friendly and purrific and shows what appears to be genuine affection as you stroke his head; he really gets into the petting....up until he traps my outstretched hand, and bites the shit out of it.
"Mini-Me, no, we don't gnaw on our kitty. Leave Mini- no! Leave Mini-Mr. Bigglesworth alone. Just love him, stroke him."
Now Marko will do this when I'm annoying him, but Marko will warn me, and receives no pleasure from my pain. Even so, its not intolerable. Marko plays a game with my flesh called, "Catch and Release." That is to say, he bites - attempts to not puncture the skin, then (and this is the important part) *lets go* of me. Once Charley has sunk his not-insubstantial fangs deep into my hand, he tries to drag my carcass back to some unknown place, purportedly for the purpose of later gnawing.
Lastly, my other cats will occasionally make half-hearted attempts to enter the bedroom afterhours by pawing on the closed bedroom door. Not Mr. Bitey. No, Mr. Bitey likes to invert his paw, slip it under the bottom of the door, and flex his gigantic cat muscles until the screws securing the hinges of the door start to pull out of the wood. Its like having a hungry grizzly on the other side of that door. I cringe to think what he'd do if he ever got in. Consequently, Mr. Bitey spends a lot of time overnight in the garage.
Outside of my poor hand, Charley is fitting in well with the other cats - more of a cautious distance thing more than playful banter - but it already appears that he will integrate well with them. And once I get him into kitty counseling to help him learn how to not be a sadist, I'm sure he'll integrate well with the humans too. Though I alone do seem to the be object of his angst :/