I told Mrs. Toni—almost daily—that if she were the size of a mouse, those cats she loved so much would happily eat her. She didn’t care. She adored them. And they tortured me. So for her, it was a win-win.
When we got married over 34 years ago, I had one rule: No. Cats.
That lasted three months.
We’ve had cats ever since. And I promise you, I have remained firm in my anti-cat stance… even if that hasn’t worked out in my favor.
Back when we met, we were both in the U.S. Air Force. I served at HQ Strategic Air Command in the Elite Guard. Toni worked at the hospital. Needless to say, our uniform requirements were slightly different. Mine had to look like it was issued by NASA—crisp, spotless, borderline bulletproof. Hers? As long as it was clean and covered her, it passed inspection.
I couldn’t have a single piece of lint on me. Meanwhile, she could’ve rolled through a field of golden retrievers and still clock in without comment. I often ironed her uniforms and shined her boots, thinking I was being the world’s most considerate husband. She thought I was nuts. That difference in attitude has stayed with me—I still can’t stand cat hair anywhere near my suits… or in my orbit.
When we lost Toni in December 2023, it was devastating—as you surely know. She fought so hard, gave so much, and never stopped looking for the blessings. Her phrase became our family rally cry: “Look for the God winks.” Even in the darkest moments, we looked for light—and we often found it.
A perfect example? Right after her toughest surgery, barely conscious, the nurse asked her if she was allergic to anything. Without opening her eyes, she pointed at me and said, “Him.”
Classic Toni. Even on the edge of life, still funny.
For four years, we fought the good fight. And as the end drew near, we had those hard conversations. One of the clearest instructions she gave me?
“Don’t get rid of the cats.”
Seriously. That was a priority.
She even told our daughters to make sure I followed through. I mean… what does a guy have to do to escape these creatures?! But here we are—17 months later—and yes, the cats are alive, well, and driving me insane.
A few weeks ago, I was prepping for a trip to Pennsylvania for a men’s retreat. Since it’s just me in the house now, I rarely clean upstairs—which is perfect, because that’s where the litter box lives. And I hate cleaning litter boxes.
But on this particular day, after hours of tidying, I noticed the litter box was… well, let’s say “ripe.” And I, being a responsible adult (reluctantly), decided to clean it. Only problem? I didn’t want to limp all the way downstairs for a trash bag.
Then I spotted it: a disposable aluminum baking pan near the pantry. Perfect. Scoop it, carry it, toss it.
So, grumbling the whole way, I scooped the box. And—surprise surprise—not a single cat showed up to help or say thank you. Rotten freeloaders.
I was exhausted, sore-footed, holding my breath from the smell, but finally done. I grabbed a small cooler for the trip with my free hand and started down the stairs… limping.
Somewhere around the third-to-last step, I guess I decided I’d had enough of stairs. So instead of walking down the stairs, I walked off of them. Into. Thin. Air.
I don’t know what I hit, but my injured foot got reacquainted with pain. As I fell, I had just enough time to think:
“Well, dufus… you just killed yourself.”
But the real kicker? The cat litter.
Because here’s a fun science fact: things in your hands go UP when you fall DOWN.
That aluminum pan? Full of poop? It became a glitter bomb of shame.
As I lay crumpled on the floor, the following thoughts ran through my mind:
- Am I dead?
- Where’s the cooler?
- Oh God, my foot!
- Where is the cat poop?
- Am I bleeding?
- Why is the Labrador licking my face?
- How do I clean this up?
- Seriously—WHERE IS THE CAT POOP?
Then I got my answer. The poop and litter rained down like confetti at a nightmare birthday party. It hit me, the carpet, the wall, the dog… everywhere. Pure humiliation.
So I laid there, telling the dog not to eat it (she tried), and wondering if Jesus might be okay with me just letting the upstairs smell like judgment day forever.
And where was the cat during this disaster?
Lying on the arm of the couch, watching me with that familiar feline disdain.
His expression said, “That never happens when I come down the stairs.”
The little jerk.
So yes—go ahead, have a laugh at my expense.
It was painful.
It was gross.
Was it worth it?
I think so.
Because there was a God wink. I wasn’t seriously hurt. And I like to believe that Toni—and maybe even Jesus—got a laugh out of it too.
Toni always knew I jokingly wanted to tie a hundred helium balloons to that cat and send him off to heaven early. But I never did. Because she was that important to me.
And, as long as I can honor my promise to protect them for her, I will.
Thanks for reading the first story I’ve been able to share since losing my best friend.
Your heart matters. Jesus always cares.
I hope this gave you a smile—or a God wink.
God bless,
Ken Dulaney
in our living room. In the dark, I sat in my pajama’s and a flannel long sleeve shirt, leg bouncing in anxiety as I rubbed my forehead and stared at the new rug in our living room. Truthfully, I was sulking as I was trying to figure out how this had happened, how I got here, and how it all went so wrong so fast. Know the feeling?