It's bound to happen, I suppose. You get multiple cats and at least one of them is going to be defective. (All you cat haters out there can just shut up about how they're all defective.)
I adore Scooter and I want to kill Scooter. Usually multiple times in the same day. I've had him since he was about two weeks old, a little ball of more fluff than kitten, the only survivor of his litter to make it to me. Scooter was one of the many (somewhere in the range of 40+) orphaned kittens that I raised while in vet school. The plan, which produced well-adjusted, well-socialized cats out of the rest of them, was to wean him onto solid food, let him play with the two other kittens I had at the time, let the adult cats instruct him on appropriate cat behavior, then adopt him out after he was neutered.
The reality was a little different. Everything was going well until he was about nine weeks old and I woke up at 5am hearing "scratch, scratch, scratch" on the down comforter. He was trying to cover the spot he'd peed on. I spoke a few choice words and put the comforter in the washing machine. Well, it was my own fault really. He was really too young to be sleeping on the bed, and he'd probably woken up with a full bladder a little too far from the litter box.
When I got home, I dried the comforter and within five minutes of it being back on the bed, he'd peed on it again. At that point I realized that I'd never be able to adopt him out.
Over the years I've found it easier to modify my environment than to modify Scooter. Instead of cleaning up after him, it's better just to make sure I don't leave any paper or plastic out. And if I want a down comforter on the bed, it has to be under something else.
Scooter's also afraid of many things, including the garbage truck (which drives in front of the house at least six times a week), ceiling fans, loud noises, and fast movements. These are the sorts of things that lead clients to comment on how the previous owner must have abused their adorable little Fifi, but in this case I know he wasn't abused. He's just like that.
With that background in mind, here are the interactions we had today:
8am: I get up only to find that Scooter has unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper onto the floor of the bathroom.
10am: Scooter pees on the paper bag that's been on the floor for three days. (The other cats like to play with paper bags, so I occasionally leave one out and accept the consequences.)
10:01am: I clean up the mess and turn on the ceiling fan. Take that, you bastard! (This was a more effective punishment in Baton Rouge where every single room had a ceiling fan. Now I can only torture him in the dining room.)
7pm: I'm lying on the couch reading a book, and suddenly the light goes out because Scooter has grabbed the plug with his teeth and yanked it out of the socket. Once again, he has managed to avoid electrocution.
So, yeah, he's a pain in the butt.
But he'll sit on my lap and purr for hours. When I'm not ready to kill him, I love him.