Brianna likes downstairs. I think it comes from her days when she was one of 87 cats in a house. No, not mine. She was taken from a house where an elderly lady had picked up two kittens and let them breed until she had 87 cats. The old lady sold the house to a contractor who was going to knock it down - then he saw all the cats.
Much to the guy's credit, he called a couple of rescue organizations.
I got Brianna.
Brianna has maybe three brain cells in her tiny head.
But she loves being downstairs. I stored old linens down there, old comforters I didn't like any more or were too shredded up to be decent, and Brianna made huge nests of them. Princess and the Pea nests.
After the flood, all that stuff got trucked out.
On the upper shelves, there were some old towels.
This evening when I went downstairs, I found one towel in the middle of the floor, folded into an 8" x 8" square. I think the furnace guy had used it to kneel on where he was here. On it sat Miss Brianna, in the middle of all that cold concrete floor.
So we went back to the shelves and found an empty lower shelf. I found four old towels and arranged them so that she wouldn't have to feel the cinder block on her back. I pet her for a long time. She wound round and round me until she tipped upside down on her new bed. Then she settled in purring and I knew I had done a good thing.
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