I had a tuxedo'd Maine Coon mix when I was younger. He was my cat, through and through. He slept with me every night, and would lick my face while I was falling asleep. His name was Quigley, and he was my heart. I still cry about missing him to this day, actually. Silly, since he's been gone for 16 years, but true.
When we went away on vacation, we had a neighbor down the street that would come up to feed the cats and water the plants. At the time, our cats were indoor/outdoor, and if Quigley thought they were running behind, he'd go down to their house and knock on the window to encourage them along.
One winter, he went missing, and we had a horrendous blizzard. I just knew I'd never see him again. Weeks went by, and I'd finally given up hope. Then, we got a call from a friend who asked if our cat was missing. Apparently, he'd been at another friends house, several miles from our house, and across a lake (frozen in the winter), and saw Quigley. He asked where they got him from, and they said he'd wandered up in the middle of the snowstorm and knocked on their window to be let in. They opened the door, and he came in like he owned the place, and stayed. Once they figured out he belonged to us, they gave him back. But that was his attitude. The world owed him fealty, and he took it as his due.
He was 26 pounds of muscle, with very little fat on him. He was also ridiculously fluffy! I loved him to pieces, and it tore me apart when I had to leave him to go to college. At that point, my parents were ready to not have cats, so they asked the neighbor who had been his caretaker for many years to take him in. He died less than a year later. He was around 10 years old. Knowing what I know now, it was probably a result of him being outdoors so much, but he was so happy to be that way. Man, I miss him.