Almost every morning when I leave to go to work, Posy comes to the front door of my apartment, and when I open it she exits with me. She likes to walk down the hall, as if she is about to embark on a long day's work:
She then will either roll on the rug in paroxysms of something, attack a tassel which is hanging from a runner on a table in the hall, or -- if she is feeling particularly brave -- she will go and peer out the door at the people passing by on the sidewalk.
After five seconds of this, I pick Posy up and carry her back to my apartment, and as I do so, she purrs loudly all the while. I slip open the door and deposit her back into her home, and she doesn't try to exit a second time.
On occasion she will run upstairs, but if she is going to do this, she will listen first to make sure she doesn't meet someone coming down the stairs as she is going up. One time the people who live above me opened their door to leave and Posy, thinking it was my apartment, went running in. I heard an "oh, hello!" and by the time I got there, she was doo-doo-dooing as fast as she could out of their apartment, with the two dogs who live there following curiously behind. After that Great Apartment Mix-Up of Ought-Nine, Posy didn't venture out for awhile, and then when she did, she most certainly did not go up the stairs.
But now each morning there she is by the door, carrying her invisible briefcase, out to confront what has got to be the most enviably short work-day ever.