This cat and I have a storied past.
He used to have an intense, deep, undeniable yearning to BE OUTSIDE at every moment.
His owner, however, wished him to stay inside. We live in a city; it's probably not safe for a kitty to be sauntering about on the streets at all hours.
But still the desire lived inside Jake; this was his jungle cat existence manifesting itself despite his temporary outward circumstances.
Every time the door opened, his muscles sprang and he was there; only the quickest of human reflexes could shut the door again before he was out.
My reflexes were not always so quick. My mind was not always on the task at hand (closing the door).
So: we were engaged in constant battle. One summer night at about 1 am, he got out on my watch. I sat on the back stoop, waiting for him to tire of taunting me (exploring) and come back. After almost an hour, my weary eyes caught a glimpse of him sliding around the corner of the garage.
Ah! I thought, I will just go catch him.
I wound my arms around him and made to escape towards the house, but in a flash I saw his angry eyes glint and he was all claws and teeth. One piercing snarl and he was gone. I still have a scar on my arm from that night. (He did eventually come back ("what, you've been waiting for me?") around 2:30 am.)
Jake passed away about 2 months ago, and we miss him terribly. He was a good cat. He was spoiled and haughty and loving and beautiful, all those things that a cat should be.