Caturday Geocat: Hand Sample Analysis

My poor beautiful hand samples from our Oregon trip are just sitting forlorn on the porch, waiting for me to come up with a permanent home for them. I'm afraid I may never get to properly house them, however. My cat has taken a definite interest.

We have this little ritual when I come home for lunch. She usually spends the time outside on the porch, hanging out on her carpet square whilst I scarf some food and catch up on Twitter. Then she greets me at the door as I head outside for a smoke. She follows me over to the lounge chair, where I sit and enjoy the last moments of freedom before heading back for another four hours of soul-sucking drudgery agonizing boredom work. She consents to a scratch behind the ears, and then ambles over and starts inspecting the rocks.

Here she's analyzing one of the platy volcanic bits (which may or may not be basalt or basaltic andesite, but that's a story for another day). It's one of the ones with dendrites on it. Once she gets done with those, she'll establish ownership over the rhyolite by rubbing her cheeks all over every piece she can reach. I have to watch her on that - they've got some glassy textures and sharp edges.

She'll look up occasionally, stare off into the distance like she's considering what she's just learned from her latest inspection.

Then she'll go back to her favorite sample, a frothy bit of basalt or basaltic andesite with quartz in.

She loves that rock the best. She curls up with it every time we're out there together. I'm surprised it's not coated in cat hair, considering how much she snuggles with it.

It'll be winter soon, and both rocks and kitteh will have to come in from the cold and rain. But for now, I think I'll leave her hand samples just as they are. This time we have together, me and her and the rocks, is precious.

I'm lucky to live with a cat who shares my love of geology and Doctor Who. I can forgive the occasional homicidal rages. We all have our little quirks, after all.

You've had your Caturday dose of cute. Time for something of substance. Both Lockwood and Cujo have written up bits of our recent trip. Cujo explains why geology is important, and Lockwood's done a more in-depth look at his teaser tweeting, a sexy take on the Pinnacles, and a dedication to the teacher who introduced him to many of the wonders we saw. Enjoy!

Poor, Pathetic Paraceratherium: Who Killed the Kitsch?

Whilst I await Brian Switek's Archaeopteryx post in order to round out our visit to OMSI, I figured I'd do you up an unexpected roadside attraction. If you drive Highway 97 from Klamath Falls to Crater Lake, you'll stumble across this decaying beast near Chemult:

Ginormous Mystery Beastie

A few questions come to mind, all beginning with WTF: WTF is it? WTF is it doing here in front of a truck accessories store? And WTF is a truck accessories store doing in the middle of nowhere with a prehistoric beastie in its front yard?

We had some serious geology to do, but the impulse proved irresistible. We stopped for a photo op.

I'm afraid this IS his good side

As near as we can tell, this crumbling behemoth is a Paraceratherium. These ancient, hulking land mammals - so large they dwarfed mammoths - lived back in the Eocene and Oligocene. I haven't found anything to tell me whether any roamed Oregon. They seem to have been mostly a Eurasian and Asian denizen. But Oregon had a healthy population of rhino relatives, so I suppose he's not all that out of place.

Don't get on his bad side

He looks imposing, I know, but he was a strict herbivore. At eighteen feet tall, thirty long, and in the mid-size sauropod weight class, I imagine that if vegetation could talk, it would whisper terrorized tales of the thunderous approach of the mighty masticator. Trees and shrubs would tell tales of the Paraceratherium who would come after misbehaving saplings and chomp them all up with its great big teeth. This thing was seriously hungry and huge - more than enough to inspire horror stories.

Verily, I am dwarfed by the might of the masticator

But it would seem to have nothing to do with truck accessory shops. A little Google-fu, however, and ye olde mystery is solved. We begin here, where a search for Paraceratherium and Oregon returns a question, answered in comments: what is this dude doing here? Turns out he was part of a roadside attraction called Thunderbeast Park, which closed back in the 90s. The truck shop people let the attractions go to seed, and apparently get very cross whenever people ask them about it. Bad business sense, if you ask me - not everyone driving by needs shiny new rims, but if they ran the theme park on the side, they could make a tidy sum on the side charging them a few bucks a pop to ogle old Oligocene oddities. Alas, they have chosen the way of guard dogs and grumpiness instead. But the Paraceratherium in the parking lot can be enjoyed quickly enough that irritated employees don't have time to chase you off.

Brian Switek snagged photos of one of the missing beasts from readers who were there before the park closed - if anyone has more, send 'em his way.

A little further searching reveals the genius behind the giant - Ernie Nelson, who also created Oregon's apparently extant Prehistoric Gardens. It seems Thunderbeast Park was star-crossed from its inception, but the Prehistoric Gardens, cared for by Ernie himself, thrived. Gotta go see that place next!

One last shot

I hope someone, somehow, rescues this poor pathetic Paraceratherium before he's completely dead, restores him to his former glory, and sticks him in a friendlier roadside spot where kids can marvel and adults can amuse themselves. This grand old beast deserves better than he's got.

GeoKitteh Contemplates Hand Samples

All of my lovely rocks from our El Norte adventure are still on a towel in the living room, awaiting their final home. This is normally where teh kitteh's paper and cardboard are. I thought she might be angry, but she found Mommy washing rocks to be fascinating. Then she decided they'd been placed there for her own entertainment.

Looks like a queen with her court, doesn't she just?

She's been busy inspecting the bounty.

And then she thinks about them for a moment.

If she makes some sort of profound discovery no one's ever made before with your basic subduction zone rocks, I hope she learns English and shares her wisdom.

Cantina Collage o' the Week: North Creek Flowers

Aside from hygienic herons and baby duckies, one can see a profusion of wild and cultivated flowers along the North Creek trail.  Always makes for a nice macro experience.

Cantina Collage o' the Week: Rhodies

I never much liked rhododendrons much, growing up.  All the ones I'd seen were just plants with big boring green leaves.  I didn't know what all the fuss was about.

Then I moved up here, and the place seemed covered in plants with big boring green leaves.  But in mid-spring, the things exploded with blooms.  I'd never seen anything quite like them.  All of the northwest bursts with blossoms in huge, colorful clusters.  Some of the rhodies are the size of shrubs, and some of them are trees.  Trees, covered in ginormous flowers. 

The street that leads up to my complex becomes a corridor of color every spring, between the rhodies, the bulbs, and the fruit trees.  It's one of the reasons I haven't moved.  I love that street.

These are some of the rhodies that rioted there this spring:

And a bee for scale:

I'm okay with the big boring green leaves now.  I know what they'll get up to for several weeks next spring.  In fact, I fully intend to hie me down to the Rhododendron Species Garden again so that my Sony Cyber-Shot can do it justice.  Did I mention ginormous trees with huge flowers on?

Cantina Collage o' the Week: Juanita Bay Flowers

I haven't restocked on quotes yet, so we'll make do with collages.  Horrible torture, I know: I'm making you look at pretty things.

These are some of the many flowers I made friends with when my intrepid companion and I went to Juanita Bay in May, which adventure I meant to write up and completely forgot about.

You'll notice Pacific Bleeding Heart in the bottom right, there.  I'd thought it was something they planted, so I'd forgotten all about it.  Funny how we get so much more excited when we know they're wild.  At least, I do.

The purple ones against a blue sky in the bottom center were on a tree.  A huge tree.  A huge tree absolutely covered in purple flowers:

And from another angle in which you can see the flowers a bit better:

If anybody knows what it is, I'd count it a kindness if you let me know.

I'll write up that adventure here eventually - just wait till you see the turtles!

How to Get Mistaken for a Geologist

One of the flattering (and alarming) things to have emerged from getting linked by Pharyngula was having a few folks mistake me for a really real geologist.  I'm not a real geologist (but I play one on the intertoobz).  It wasn't quite the same shock as getting adopted by the geoblogosphere, but ran a close second.  This isn't the second time I've been mistaken for an actual working geologist.  When I start babbling about subduction zones and plate tectonics in real life, people who haven't met me yet automatically assume I'm a professional.

How does that happen?

This, combined with a friend asking how one goes about self-teaching, led me to pondering.  And then my tongue adhered to my cheek.  What results is the following Sooper Sekrit Manual, in which I explain how you, too, could Get Mistaken For a Geologist.  With minor adjustments, you can apply it to any branch of science.

1.  Read blogs.

Oh, hey, look, you are!  But I mean read blogs by actual geologists, too.  There's one hell of an education awaiting you on the internet.  It's like sitting in a field full of geologists, and they're teaching you what they know.  They'll show you wonders and introduce you to new concepts and get you conversant in the life and work of a geologist.  They'll even answer questions!

2.  Read books.

Read deeply and widely, everything from pop sci to textbooks.  Yes, I read textbooks for fun.  I am one of Those People.  It can be rough going at first, but if you read absolutely everything reputable you can get your hands on, you'll end up absorbing far more than you realize.  Next thing you know, you'll be pontificating on things like thrust faults and metamorphism, throwing around $100 words like they're pennies, and observers will believe you have an expensive education.  It's a lot of fun, especially when you tell them all you've got is a GED and a handful of college credits.  Have a camera handy: the look on their faces is priceless.

3.  Read papers

Once those books which in the introduction explain that the average layperson may find it tough going because the author was writing for serious students and professionals no longer daunt you, head over to Google Scholar and seek out the actual scientific literature.  You'd be amazed how much is actually available for free.  You'd be even more amazed at how much of it you can actually comprehend.  It's the best way to get in-depth information on a particular aspect of geology.  It's also fascinating to see how science is done.  And then you'll have a bag full of $1000 words to throw around like confetti.

4.  Learn the lingo

Oh, look, you already have.  Side effect of all that reading you're doing.  I'm also writing a book on just that subject, so you'll soon have a handy guide.

5.  Befriend geologists

Or let them befriend you.  They're a lively, fascinating bunch, more than willing to let layfolk who have an interest and the willingness to learn hang about with them, and they'll show you things like how to properly use a rock hammer and what a Brunton compass is for.  They will make you look upon this world with wonder and awe and appreciation.  And do they ever know how to party!

6.  Collect rocks

Be one of those people who loves rocks so much they're willing to schlep ten thousand pounds' worth out of the wilderness because they wanted just one more hand sample.  And I'm not talking about the really perfect mineral specimens and gemstones and all that other stuff that everybody in the universe likes.  I'm talking about mudstones and basalts and all of those kinds of rocks that are deadly-dull to the average human being. 

7.  Dress in geo gear

Not that there's a standard uniform, but we're talking clothes and shoes suitable for long, dirty hikes over outcrops in all sorts of weather.  If you want to be mistaken for a geologist, you can't wander around in fancy shoes dressed like you're about to meet with the CEO about a promotion to the corner office.

8.  Carry a rock hammer and hand lens

Not everywhere.  Just out in the field.  When you go on hikes, have a hammer with you specifically made for bashing rocks with.  Geologists know that a rock can look very different when broken open, due to the effects of weathering.  So they don safety goggles, pick up a hammer, and whammo.  Then they whip out a hand lens to study the fresh face exposed.  They may occasionally nibble on the rock in order to determine what it is, but this is optional if all you're wanting to do is pass.  I don't think it's common knowledge among layfolk yet that geologists can discern a lot about a rock by consuming bits of it.

I think we should get jackets made with this logo - who's with me?

9.  Beer

If you want to be mistaken for a geologist, you must understand beer.  You must be prepared to discuss, drink, and praise beer.  You will notice that beer comes up a lot.  Beer's importance to geology cannot be emphasized enough.

There you go.  All you need to know in order to be mistaken for a really real geologist.  As for why you'd want to be mistaken for one, well, that is because geologists are teh awesome and geology is one of the most important, most interesting, and most beautiful sciences in existence.

And there's beer.  Never, ever, forget the beer.

There. Now You Can't Say I Never Give You Flowers

So my intrepid companion and I went to Madrona Park on Wednesday.  I've mentioned it before - it is, hands-down, one of the best places to go in Seattle on a sunny day.  The views are to die for, and I'll be doing you up a proper post soon with geology and much better photos than the last time.  My old POS camera could not in any way do it justice.

Thing is, when I go out on these rambles, I come away with all these amazing photos I want to show you, but which don't merit a post of their own.  They don't even seem to justify a little slideshow, really.  And there may be a solution to that.  When I was playing around with different photo-editing tools trying to find something that would allow me to combine several LIDAR images into one simple package, I found this little autocollage thingy that's got a free trial.  It didn't work for LIDAR, but it seems ideal for those random pics I think you all would like but don't wish to bombard you with individually.

So here is a nice little autocollage of the wildflowers at Madrona Park.

What do you think?  You like?  You want more?  Autocollages of interesting rocks and other yummy things could be in your future, if you want them to be.  All I'd have to do is spend $20 on the program, and we'd even be rid of the watermark.  I'm totally down with that.

We'll try it out on a few other bits, and if enough people enjoy them, we'll continue on after the trial expires.

Happy Birthday, America!

Our very own Woozle has written you a birfdai song:



It's going to be soooo hard not to sing the chorus whilst standing in line for my own personal groping session when next I fly...

For Roger: Disco Ball

The rapture happened, my darlings.  Well, for me.  Well, rapture in one sense, anyway.  After an early evening in with the new episode of Doctor Who (and what better evidence that this is, indeed, the Tribulation than the fact that we now have to wait two bloody weeks for the second part of this two-parter?), my friends and I headed out to the Peacemakers concert.

It.  Was.  Fantastic.

But it's the Peacemakers, so those of you who know what kind of show the Peacemakers put on already knew that.

I'll have plenty more pics and gushing a bit later, but I wanted to post Roger's disco ball first thing.  He loved that thing.  So here it is, in all its glory:

Disco Ball at Neumos

Roger and Nick with Disco Ball Overhead

Peacemakers con Disco Ball

And, amazingly, video in which both sight and sound are relatively clear:



Have I mentioned lately that I love my camera almost as much as I love the Peacemakers?

If there's a better way to spend the end of the world, I can't really think of it - unless, of course, it's one of their Mexico shows.  But we wouldn't have had a disco ball there, so perhaps this worked out for the best.

My Cat the Geology Fan

A few of us on Twitter were recently discussing the feasibility of sticking cats in washes in order to create some geology lolcats.  This is the closest my cat will ever come to a dry wash.  She's not what you might call a fan of the great outdoors.  But, apparently, she likes pop geo books just fine:

If you're inspired to caption, knock yourselves out.  I'd love to see the result!

I wish I could believe she really was interested in geology, but I think she was just trying to impress the neighbor, who was visiting us for the first time.  She's more of a Doctor Who fan at heart.  Here's yet another bit of evidence:

Note how she's shifted them so they form a nice, comfy arc along her back.  And she's dragged her green tissue paper closer so she can have all of her great loves in one place.  This is why I will never be able to clear my living room floor of Doctor Who DVDs, a tattered old piece of cardboard from an Amazon shipment, and that stupid piece of tissue paper: she'd kill me if I tried.  All right, granted, she attempts to kill me anyway, but only as an afterthought.  She'd be motivated to murder if I ever put things away.

If blogging ever suddenly ceases, at least you'll know what happened to me.

A Burst of Butterflies

One of the reasons I'm looking forward to summer: I'll get to befriend butterflies again.

Brilliant blue, snapped by my intrepid companion

When we were up at Summer Falls last year, we had little blue butterflies fluttering all round us.  They got very interested in my bag when I went to the bathroom, and when we laid down in the grass to admire the falls, they wandered all over us.  That's a kind of magic, that is.

Come enjoy them with me.

Fossil Freeway Redux

So last year, remember, one of the first adventures we engaged in was a little jaunt along the Fossil Freeway.  What?  You don't?  You don't recall every single word I've ever written?

Sigh.

Well, go read that post, then.  And then click this link and listen to the song "I Am A Paleobotanist,"  because yea, verily, it is teh awesome, and you all deserve a chance to get your science geek on with rock and roll.

And for extra science singing madness, if you haven't already, don't miss Christie Wilcox singing "Extinction's a Bitch."  Then immediately go follow her on Twitter, because if she hits 2,000 followers by May, we'll get more songs!

(Tip o' the shot glass to @Laelaps.)

(And yes, for those who were wondering, I don't expect you to recall every single word I've ever written.  It's just that the opportunity for melodrama was knocking, and I answered the door thinking it was Jehovah's Witnesses.  There I was, expecting entertainment... le sigh.)

My Cat Is Also a Doctor Who Fan

Fangirl

She's added hanging about with the Doctor Who DVDs to her usual rounds of sleeping on me, her paper, and the back of the couch.  Looks very smug about it, doesn't she?

Punctuation is Key, People

[Ed.: I wasn't aware when I wrote this, but this cover's actually photoshopped.  Doesn't change the basic message, which is that a bit o' punctuation in wrong place can completely change the meaning of a sentence.  Due credit to the mag editors who got the right comma in the right place at the right time.  Thank you, Lockwood, for reminding me of the importance of skepticism!]

Andrew Sullivan found this gem of unfortunate punctuation on a magazine cover (h/t):

I hope this does not explain her popularity.

Unless America changed while I was sleeping, I believe it's still in poor taste to serve cannibal-and-canine feasts in this country.

This is a shining example demonstrating why punctuation is important, and why this anecdote about Oscar Wilde rings true:

Oscar Wilde came down to lunch,. His guests wanted to know how he had spent his morning. "I was hard at work," he said.

"Oh?" someone asked. "Did you accomplish much?"

"Yes, indeed," said Wilde. "I inserted a comma."

He vanished after lunch and didn't return until dinner. They asked how he'd spent his afternoon. "More work," he said.

"Inserted another comma?" someone asked sarcastically.

"No," said Wilde, unfazed. "I removed the one I inserted this morning."

Filched that from Isaac Asimov, I did.  Can't remember which book on writing it's from, but it's stayed with me for years.  Commas matter.

So does the rest of the punctuation pantheon.  Put a period in the wrong place, and you completely screw up a sentence.  Bung quotation marks around the wrong words, and you've just put words in someone's mouth that don't belong there.  I could go on and on, but what I'll do instead is direct you to one of the most delightful reads on punctuation ever written: Lynn Truss's Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation.  Read it.  Learn it.  Live it.

Or else the dog and the family are what's for dinner.

Accretionary Wedge #30: Bake Sale Madness

Only for you lot would I whip out my long-neglected electric mixer and put my poor, long-suffering intrepid companion through an afternoon of baking, grumbling, decorating, more grumbling...  Damn it, Jim, I'm a writer, not a baker!

What I would've liked to end up with was a model of the Cascades in miniature.  What we've got is a generic sort of cirque glacier thingy.

Looking back on it, we should've done it with two cakes: a nice round stacked on top would've given me a better shot at mountains.  So it goes.  Use your imaginations.

Anyway.  We've got some features of a glacier going on.  I even annotated the photo for ye!

As you can see, we've got a wee little cirque glacier spilling down a (work with me, people!) mountainside.  It's in retreat!  You can tell because it's left behind a nice terminal moraine, which its outwash stream has breached.  This, along with the fact I didn't buy a lot of blue icing, explains why there's no lake piled up behind the moraine.

The stream itself is the typical braided type you so often see draining meltwater from glaciers.  I would've tried to mimic the milky appearance of rock flour in the water, but decided it wasn't worth the risk.  Besides, we wanted cake!

It was nearly impossible to photograph, so I haven't got a good example, but the bottom part of the glacier's created a nice, U-shaped valley, even.  And I'm sure you've noticed all the little brown flecks in the glacier.  Ice is covered in rockfall, y'see.  It's very dirty ice.  And very tasty, too!

Right, then.  That's it.  Mixer's being retired again.  And the next time we hold a bake sale, I'm going with my original idea - breccia.  Or possibly a nice tillite.

An Idiot Abroad: Not Just Americans Are Ugly

Ricky Gervais is a terrible, terrible friend.  He played a rather expensive practical joke on his friend Karl, and the result is An Idiot Abroad, a series in which a stay-at-home-Brit experiences the wonders of travel.

So far, I'm learning things.  I'm learning it's not just Americans who can be remarkably close-minded.  I'm learning there's virtually nothing you can't put on a stick and eat.  And I'm learning more about how fortune tellers suck in the gullible.  It seems to have quite a bit to do with scaring the bejezus out of them from the get-go.

It's hysterical.  I think I'll be watching the rest.

For the LOLZ

I'm going to make you click some links.  Trust me, it'll be worth it.

Writers will squeal "That's me!" and non-writers will gain great insight into the writer's mind from The 4 Stages of Writing.  (via @NPalmby)

I endorse SMBC's proposal: Screw "Real Life Applications".  Want Kids to Learn Science?  Put This In Every Textbook.  (via about 5 billion people on Twitter, who promptly got buried under a flood of #scio11 tweets and are now beyond my ability to excavate.)

And lastly, this isn't an LOL, except LOLing in delight: a new science aggregator has launched!  Please do visit ScienceSeeker.org.  If you're a science blogger, submit! 

Do enjoy, my darlings!

Market Christmas

So, the other night, we went to see Blind Guardian.  I've got the post on that ready to go for tomorrow night, and hopefully you'll all enjoy it.  But for now, thee shall have Pike Place Market all decked out in its holiday finest:

Cujo's got more at his place. 

Oh, Schist! And Other Stories

Yes, it's taken me this long to settle on an appropriate deskcrop for this month's Accretionary Wedge.  In point of fact, I haven't got any deskcrops.  I haven't got a desk.  If I did have a desk, I wouldn't be able to use it, as it would be covered in rocks, books, and the occasional knickknack. 

I have, however, got bookshelves, the bits of which that aren't filled with books and knickknacks are covered in rocks.  I have also got tables, which are mostly covered in rocks.  Breakfast bar?  I hope you like stone-cold stones for meals, because that's what's on the bar.  Little half-wall in the entry way?  Home to more rocks.  And every single rock in this house has some sort of meaning.  Each and every one tells stories.  And they were all hollering "Me! ME! MEEE!" when I attempted to choose just one.  Worse than puppies, they are.

Ultimately, it came down to rocks from home.  And I couldn't choose only one. 

Some of you may not know this about me, but I have an abiding fondness for schist.  I'm not sure why.  There's just something about its foliation that I adore.  It may have a lot to do with the fact that it's a) not volcanic, b) is metamorphic, and c) something I can identify with greater than 89% confidence despite all that.

It wasn't always like that.  In fact, the first piece of schist I collected, I figured was just an unusual bit of volcanic rock.  It's the dark one here in this photo:

It's been with me since the early 2000s, when I grabbed it from the formerly-vacant lot behind my old apartment.  Needed nice, dark, interesting rocks for a mini-Zen garden I was building, didn't I?  And there it stayed for years, nestled in white sand, and after I moved to Washington it lived in a Ziplock bag, awaiting a day when I had more space for Zen rock gardens.  Then I visited Arizona, picked up that lovely golden piece of mica schist that's sitting beside it, removed it from its bag to add to the Arizona collection, and went, "Wait a damned minute... Oh, schist!" 

I believe it may even be a bit of Brahma schist.  Not sure.  I mean, it was sitting about 3,000 feet above where it should've been, so I know it's a souvenir rock someone picked up and later discarded.  An anthro-erratic, if you will.  Could've come from anywhere.  But I love it anyway.

The mica schist beside it comes from the Mingus Mountains (no, people from Arizona don't usually refer to them as the Black Hills, at least, not where I came from).  And that other bit there is a very nice little grossular garnet I picked up at the same rock shop.

But I promised you more than schist, and here's a nice little bit you may enjoy from the same display:

That, my darlings, is a fragment of the nickel-iron meteorite that slammed into Northern Arizona about 50,000 years ago and left us with the enormous hole in the ground known as Barringer Meteor Crater.  They sell bits of it in the gift shop.  I was rather skeptical, so I grabbed a magnet with a bottle opener and a resin-encased scorpion and did a little field test.  Tink!  Yep, it's magnetic, all right.  So I bought the bits, and a tube of rock flour.  That white powder is pulverized Kaibab limestone.  The meteor hit so hard that it turned major bits of strata right over and turned some into dust so fine that the frontier ladies used it as talcum powder.

So many rocks in that case.  So many stories.  But I shall conclude with this one:

That, my darlings, is a lovely bit of bornite, which I first knew as peacock rock.  Fascinated me as a kid.  I couldn't care less if it was a copper ore back then - all I knew was, it's pretty.  And I'd lost my piece.  So one of my major objectives when I went home for a visit was finding a nice specimen.  Where else to go but Gold King Mine, where I'd got my first?  If you ever get a chance, go to Jerome and visit Gold King Mine.  It's a hoot, and they have lovely rocks and fossils in their shop.

Aside from the fond childhood memories, aside from teaching me more about the copper industry to fueled so much northern Arizona commerce, and aside from the fact it's pretty, this deskcrop also broke the barriers between me and my newest brother.  You see, my parents had acquired a lavender-point Siamese, whom I hadn't seen since he was a tiny kitten.  He didn't remember me.  He wanted nothing to do with me.  I was a Very Scary Intrusion into his settled universe.  He ran from me whenever I came in - until the day I returned from Gold King Mine with a nice set of rocks and fossils.  I'd laid them out on the carpet while I sorted, labeled, and stowed for the journey home.

He inspected the fossils, creeping ever closer, and found the bornite as tasty as I do:

We have been friends ever since.  So, my darlings, remember this: geology not only provides us with knowledge, awe, wonder, and amusement, it can also facilitate better relationships with the important felids in your life.  Trust me, bonding happens.  Especially when you're doing something fascinating, like trying to build a home for all those lovely samples:

Cats love deskcrops.  Spread the word!