39 days until the paperback release of When the Earth Was Green

214 days until the release of Tyrant Lizard Queen

I really wanted to make a good impression on her cats.

It was Valentine’s Day 2019, and I’d flown across the country to visit Splash for the first time since we stumbled into dating each other a few months before. I knew her cats, Terra and Hobbes, from all our mutual cooing over our fuzzballs as we texted through every day and night. But the beasts didn’t yet know me, and I hoped that I could demonstrate to them that I’m a safe, warm person to be around. Animals are quick studies of people, something front of mind given that the terrible ex who’d recently cut me loose often complained that our household animals liked me more than they liked her, and I hoped that I would pass Hobbes and Terra’s literal sniff test.

Splash warned me ahead of time that her cats might be shy about new people. Both Terra and Hobbes had been neglected and abused before Splash adopted them, and they had historically been cool on new people. I didn’t expect the felines to love me, but I hoped to meet them, say hello, and prove myself a safe human to be around.

Hobbes acted as if he had been waiting for me to get there. Despite being careful on his approach when I stepped through the door, I awoke the next morning to feel some dense, ball-shaped weight on the bedsheets behind my legs. It was Hobbes. And from the day onward, he was my cat, too.

We knew each other for seven years. Right until the end, he kept learning and becoming more affectionate. A little shy guy who loved fetch, and loved food even more, Hobbes eventually learned to be friends with our dog Jet, found that he liked to cuddle, and finally felt comfortable enough to snuggle in with our more recent adoptions Strata and Joey. (Terra, 21, passed in 2024.) But he loved Splash and I most. Every time I sat on the couch for a movie, he was there next to me. I’d tilt a pillow down so Hobbes could curl up right beside my hip. He followed me from room to room, sometimes quietly and sometimes yelling in the hopes that I’d be moving towards snacks, and he loved to come in at night to quietly rest his weight against me. Any time I was upset, he quietly settled in close and purred. The day Roe was torn up and I disappeared downstairs to let the depression eat me a little, he came looking and stayed. When I came home from facial feminization surgery, zonked out from pain and anesthesia and opioid medication, he curled up against my head because clearly I’d been injured. I had to keep an eye on him when I dilated because he always had a fondness for plastic and would try to bite the protruding end of the medical instrument when I wasn’t paying attention. We were always talking to each other, even when he was so skinny and sick a lot of our conversations became “Sorry buddy but you can’t eat what I’m cooking right out of the pan.”

Hobbes made it to 20. I knew him for less than half that time. The years weren’t enough, and never could be. He shaped more of my life than he perhaps knew. An creamsicle who was never out of sight, hunter of mice and thief of unwatched potato chips.

Even though our house is still full of a lot of adoration and conversation, it feels emptier without Hobbes. He was my breakfast alarm. He took a toy in his mouth and howled any time couch time was put off. He’d sit by my leg and touch his paw to it when he wanted to be pet. I keep expecting to see him out of the corner of my eye, I keep trying to be careful where I step to not put my toes on his tail. Every cat is special. But Hobbes, he was my family. He was a fixed point, someone I knew would always be there no matter what. I know endings are inevitable. I have held a fading cat in my arms more than a few times now. But I didn’t fully understand how big a space such a small creature had made in my life. I have the good memories, more than I can count, attached to thousands of photos that span my entire transition. Perhaps it’s fitting that he left soon after the seventh anniversary of my first HRT dose, because he loved me just as much then as on his last day. I would have traded so much for more. I’m glad I got to share any, all those hours to be soft. To be together.

Scribblings

• I’m proud to announce that I’m writing another book! I hope you like big sharks. Here’s the deal announcement that appeared in Publishers Lunch this week.🦈

  

• Netflix’s The Dinosaurs seems like a pretty big hit. But is it any good? Well. For premium Boneyard subscribers, I kicked off a new I Want My DinoTV series to review some of the latest dino shows - as well as some of my personal favorites. The series is an exclusive to this newsletter, new installments each Monday, and you can see what I thought of The Dinosaurs E1 here.

• Last week’s article about sauropod color (!) is up on my blog.

Ear Perks

• Fossil Forager’s merch is stunning, but I expect some of you might be especially interested in the Man, I Love Fossils patch. (check out the whalefall one, too!)

• Sperm whales butt heads! This is definitely going to go into MEGATOOTH, but you can read the paper right now.

• Somehow I’ve never heard about seal lice until now. They’re internal, and the existence of insects within these marine mammals suggests that insects really could make it in the seas. The question is why there aren’t more of them.

• New dinosaur movie! Maybe. The End of Oak Street does look a little, ugh, Cloverfield-entangled. But we get a peek at what seems to be some kind of monstrous carcharodontosaur or megaraptor at the end. Dinosaurs and suburbia are a winning combination, so I’m hoping we get some fun Cretaceous carnage out of this one.