Wellington, or Wellie, as I've been calling him lately, has left his bathroom in my apartment.
His new mommy came by this morning to meet him, after a week of my telling her how sweet the little guy is. I was afraid that I'd cry when she said that Wellie was a wonderful cat. But I was a good foster mom and went through his checkup at the vet's, his remaining antibiotics and the canned and dry foods I'd been feeding him.
Then the time came for Wellie to go to his new home, where Morty and Eli wouldn't swat at him from under the bathroom door. I went to the bathroom by myself to pick him up for the last time, give him a snuggle, and back out of the room so he wouldn't see the carrier. Then his last memory of my hospitality was being stuffed into a carrier and holding him down so I could zip the top up.
Then he was gone, and my bathroom feels strangely empty when I walk by.
