My human calls me Jethro, or at least I think he does. When he first took me in, he tried a bunch of names. Different jumbles of half-slurred syllables that I would sometimes look toward but mostly ignore. He doesn't say my name much anymore, but I honestly couldn't care less. After all, life is good. 
My current home is bigger than I ever could have hoped for in my few years alive. Two stories tall, a shiny brown floor that slips under my claws, and plenty of space to zoom around and leap onto ledges. A far cry from my time on the streets, where the ground scratched my paw pads and missing days of food were normal.  
But it's not like that anymore. 
Nowadays, I live with a human who feeds me twice a day, buys me tons of toys, and doesn't pester me when I just want to nap. I'm truly blessed to have such a wonderful house partner. Of course, not everything was perfect. You see, once I started living with my current human, I stopped going outdoors. 
Instead, my days were spent staring through the shiny clear wall by my ledge, trying not to fog up the surface with my breath. Every time I saw a bird, or squirrel, or any creature scurrying across the ground, my instinct would get the better of me, and I'd meow and paw at the slippery barrier. My human would notice the clinking and tenderly smooth out my fur, grunting a melody that warmly reminded me that I wasn't allowed. My coat had grown out into a fluffy halo since he let me live with him and was long enough to require daily brushing. Perhaps he knew how much it would get tangled if I stepped into the fresh, leaf-strewn ground. 
How considerate. But I was still a hunter, and every day I yearned to explore.  
One day, when golden-orange leaves carpeted the ground outside and my human had gathered them into large mounds, I finally got my chance. 
It was a typical morning for me, when my human scratched behind my ears and left for his usual eight hours outside. As expected, all the exits were blocked, and the biggest openings to the outside world were seemingly sealed with those shiny clear walls. It looked like it would be another humdrum morning in my little paradise until I saw it: a fruit fly. A furry black pellet with wings, licking its spindly legs and rubbing them over its bulbous noggin. Sitting on my ledge. That little speck thought it was safe, but it clearly didn't know about me.  Right as it was about to finish its grooming, I slapped a paw to its side. My prey flew up in a daze, its form charting a spiraling path in front of my eyes. Big mistake. I shuffled forward and leaned into several consecutive swats, bouncing its half-conscious body all about and taking care to keep it contained to my ledge. Once its buzzing protests quieted to a weak simmer, I caught it with a sharp jut of my neck. Its tiny hairs prickled my tongue and its flesh gushed with a sweet aftertaste as I bit in. 
That experience alone would have satisfied me for the day had I not looked a little to the left. The shiny wall had moved a little out of place, revealing a thinner patchwork of black string. In the lower corner of that black string was a tear, no bigger than one of my toes. So that's how the little interloper got in! The thought stayed for only a second as another one quickly took its place. 
If that fly could come in through that tiny hole, could I go out the same way?  
I carefully craned my neck towards the tear. It smelled like rotting salt but seemed okay enough to chew. I bit down and twisted my neck, wrenching a chunk of the lattice outward. The tear was now big enough for me to fit through. I contorted my body through the hole, just wide enough for my whiskers, and toppled onto some dead leaves with a thick crunch.  
The scent of moist earth and decaying plants wove through my fur, framing it slightly. The piles of leaves beckoned me, and the one that rustled loudest called me the most. I bounded to it, the wind lifting my coat with each leap. The warm sunlight snuffed itself out as I dove in.  
Squeaking. 
Loud squeaking. 
I raked my claws deep and caught skin. The mouse sprinted through the patchwork of sunbeams while I stayed in hot pursuit. Its blood was warm, and now that I smelled it, its fate was sealed. It barely emerged out the final leaf when I jammed my paw into its tail. My toes sank into the earth and my breath paused, uncertain about the security of my restraint. Thankfully, it worked, and the little rodent scrabbled fruitlessly in place. With a swift motion, I bit down on the creature's neck. Another successful hunt. 
I stepped out of the pile and admired my handiwork. My human would be so proud of me. He was going to love this feast I brought for both of us.  
I rode the high of that moment for a little longer before I suddenly felt heavier. I tried to shake off the sensation before realizing the cause. My coat caught several leaves and massive smears of wet mud, tangling and matting around my hindquarters. It was uncomfortable, but a long way from my street days, when I barely had any fur to tangle. 
"Jethro!" 
I knew that voice. 
My human was worried about me, and doubt crept in. What was I even doing? I'd left the safety of my home to explore, but now that I was out here, I was denying myself the comforts my new life had afforded me. I remembered when my last human shoved me into a yellowed box and jostled it into an empty field, dumping me into some strange-smelling grass. Grass always smells the strangest at the edge where humans no longer live, like a soured bird left in the sun too long. I remembered the lonely and freezing nights in the wilderness. The rainy days with no shelter. The fights with other cats which ended in cuts at my sides. 
Then I remembered my human's scent. That warm and musky fragrance he had when he left me food for the first time. His wrinkled and doughy hands, which I bit when he first tried touching me. His warm lap as he pet me late into the night. It didn't matter who I used to be. Right now, I was Jethro. The dead mouse in front of me lost its appeal as I thought about the aftermath of my little outing. My human would probably take me in, softly chiding me as he washed the dirt and grime out of my fur, and shower me with cuddles afterwards. 
Perhaps I should have appreciated his generosity more before I left, but right now, the next pile of leaves twinkled alluringly in the sunlight that filtered through some branches. 
I briefly looked back at his voice before charging headfirst into that mound's earthy embrace. 
It was going to be a while.