One Year with Finnegan: The Cat Who Changed How I See the World - July 13, 2026

A year ago, if you had told me I'd be writing a blog about my adventure cat, I probably would have laughed.

After losing my dog, Baylee, I was certain I was done with pets. Completely done. I couldn't imagine opening my heart again, knowing that one day I'd have to say goodbye. The grief was enough that I thought I'd never willingly sign up for that kind of heartbreak again.

Then I met Finnegan.

It wasn't some grand, planned adoption story. I was simply dropping something off at the SPCA and happened to meet this little tuxedo cat. The interaction lasted only a few moments.

Boom.

That was it.

Before my brain could list all the reasons why adopting another animal was a bad idea, my heart had already made the decision.

Looking back now, I can't imagine life without him.

Since that day, Finnegan and I have been nearly inseparable.

He's crossed on BC Ferries, stayed in hotels, spent hours on long road trips, explored beaches and forests, and even joined me on an Eagle Watching Tour in the pouring rain. None of those adventures were things I ever imagined doing with a cat, yet somehow he has embraced this adventurous lifestyle right alongside me.

Well... mostly.

He approaches almost everything with cautious curiosity. Every new sound, smell, and place deserves a careful inspection before he decides whether it's safe.

Unless there's sand or dirt.

The moment his paws touch either one, all caution disappears. He throws himself into it like a pig discovering the world's greatest mud puddle. Rolling, digging, flopping around with complete joy.

It makes me laugh every single time.

While I've been teaching Finnegan how to become an adventure cat, I've realized he's been teaching me something far more valuable.

He's teaching me to slow down.

I've always been someone who likes to keep moving. Baylee loved that pace too. Our adventures were about hiking farther, seeing more, covering as much ground as we could.

Finnegan doesn't see the world that way.

He'll stop for several minutes just to watch leaves dancing in the wind. He'll study a bird I hadn't even noticed. Sometimes he'll simply sit and observe, as though the world is putting on a show just for him.

At first, I found it challenging.

I wanted to keep walking.

He wanted to keep watching.

Over time, I stopped fighting those moments and started sharing them.

Sometimes on our walks, I find myself watching Finnegan more than I watch the trail.

I catch myself wondering what he's thinking.

When he stops every few feet to investigate something only he finds fascinating, I know he's less than impressed when I gently tug on his leash. He lets me know with a little growl that clearly translates to:

"Listen, Mom... I'm busy investigating. Leave me alone."

Fair enough.

But when he quietly watches a dog pass by, stares at people in the distance, or simply sits taking in the world, I can't help but wonder what he's seeing. Is he as captivated by it all as I am? Does he look around in awe at this incredible world we're exploring together?

Or...

Is he silently judging absolutely everyone?

Honestly, knowing Finnegan, it's probably a little bit of both.

His facial expressions give him away every time. One raised eyebrow, one slow blink, one look of complete disbelief, and I'm convinced he's questioning everyone's life choices.

He's definitely a tiny tuxedo supervisor.

Standing still while Finnegan explores has become one of my favourite parts of our adventures.

It's during those quiet pauses that I've started noticing the little things I would have walked right past before.

A ladybug resting on a flower.

A bee collecting pollen.

Tiny mushrooms hiding beneath fallen logs.

Little moments of life that have always been there—I was just moving too fast to notice them.

Those moments have changed my photography.

Instead of always chasing the next landscape or wildlife encounter, I've become more patient. I've learned to observe before pressing the shutter. Sometimes the most meaningful photographs aren't found miles down the trail.

Sometimes they're right beside your feet.

All because a little tuxedo cat decided something was worth investigating.

I think that's one of the greatest gifts Finnegan has given me.

He reminds me that adventure isn't measured by how many kilometres you hike, how many places you visit, or how much you accomplish in a day.

Sometimes adventure is simply being present.

It's allowing yourself to be curious.

It's taking time to notice the extraordinary hidden in the ordinary.

Funny enough, that's exactly how wildlife behaves too. They don't rush through life. They watch. They listen. They wait.

Maybe that's why photographing wildlife has begun to feel different this past year.

Not because my camera changed.

Because I did.

I never expected a cat to become my travel companion.

I certainly never expected one to become one of my greatest teachers.

Yet here we are.

I'm incredibly grateful that life had other plans for me that day at the SPCA.

Thank you, Finnegan, for your endless curiosity, your fearless spirit, your muddy paws, your hilarious facial expressions, your chaos-criminal tendencies, and for reminding me to slow down long enough to truly see the world around me.

Thank you for making me laugh every single day.

Thank you for reminding me that opening your heart again is always worth the risk.

Here's to many more ferry rides, road trips, rainy adventures, sandy paws, tiny discoveries, and countless moments of wondering what on earth is going through that wonderfully mischievous tuxedo brain of yours.

I can't wait to see where our next adventure takes us.