Attack Hamster?

As I drove to Lovely Daughter's apartment this morning to tend to Hambo's water and feed, I was still unclear why the hamster could not have been delivered to my house at the same time as the two cats. I have never officially met Hambo. Whenever I have been visiting he has been exercising his nocturnal prerogative to snuggle in a compact furry ball and sleep through any social occasions. Today he was awake and curious, as alert a hamster as I have ever seen. His food bowl was full but when I compared the contents to those in the bag of hammie-nosh, I could see his preference for sunflower seeds and some other unrecognizable food flakes had led him to triage his favorites and leave the rest. He seemed quite excited when I added a handful of new food and was stuffing his little furry cheek pouches as I took out his water bowl to wash and refill. Hambo has a self-serve water bottle suspended on the side of his home. That was virtually untouched. He must have a preference for drinking from his no-spill plastic recipient. All of two inches across it is like a reflecting pool to him; somewhere to compose his little hammie soul after tearing around the tunnels, slides and climbing options of hammie habitat. I had been quite flattered to be greeted with enthusiasm by this tiny white rodent, (I am easily pleased, I admit). He had twitched his nose and come to the side of the cage to allow me to gently scratch his head. Cuteness personified.
Not so cute as I returned his water dishlet to it's spot. He latched onto my pinkie knuckle with his teeny tiny "Hambo the Cannibal" teeth, drawing blood and coming very close to being pounded into a white fluffy snowflake-like hamster pancake.
If Lovely Daughter had explained to me that he had been left to guard the house, I would have been more careful.