Sacred Haven of Debauchery

My parents had a cat, and I built different kinds of houses for it, but without an exit so it wouldn't run away, and I often ended up forgetting about it. Then, after some time, you open the roof, and it jumps onto your hand with its claws, and then slides down to the ground like a mountaineer, leaving a deep cut with clumps of dirt under your skin – nice. It was a funny cat; it would bring a bird to bed in the morning or a mouse. The feeling of waking up like that was something else. And when we temporarily moved to the city, it fell from the balcony a few days later (we assume, since no one was home), and we never found it.