There's a subtle stink here, a heady miasma. The warehouse is barren and broken, slated for deconstruction at an unspecified date. Miss, of course, doesn't know this. She's not really into real estate. She's just a cat, after all. It smells so devoid of life, so stale she can't help but be attracted to it. It's a miasma all the same, vaguely repellent and distantly related to the smell- blood and lifelessness- of the cave she was entombed in. She can ignore it, she thinks, because although one of her former friends- from her old life, that is- has offered her her human's attic for her base of operations, it's not entirely suitable. This warehouse however seems perfect, empty, barren (smelling so familiar, it hurts) so she turns to Emory with a shrug and says, "We'll take it."