Researchers just announced they've found the mechanism behind bat longevity. Multiple copies of genes that produce immune repair proteins allow bat cells to fix damage faster than ours do. Means their tissues accumulate fewer mutations over decades.
Except we already found this. In 2013, researchers working with naked mole rats identified the same cluster of elevated immune proteins doing the same repair work.
The mole rats, which live thirty years underground in colonies and almost never get cancer, were using cellular machinery nearly identical to what bats just got credited for discovering. This is how comparative biology actually works. We find an outlier species, identify one of its tricks, publish it as revolutionary, then spend the next decade noticing that the trick exists everywhere we bothered to investigate.
Antifreeze proteins in fish turned up in beetles and plants. Pressure-resistance adaptations in deep-sea creatures appeared in some bacteria. Cancer suppression mechanisms in elephants had parallels in whales and, again, mole rats. The problem is structural. We study animals one at a time, through the lens of what makes them famous or useful. Bats are charismatic and their longevity is surprising relative to their size. Mole rats are underground and ugly. Each lab solves the same puzzle independently, convinced they've found something new.
What changes when you stop treating species as isolated case studies and start treating them as chapters in the same story is how you ask questions. Instead of asking "Why do bats live so long?" you ask "What makes long-lived animals long-lived?" The second question suggests looking at what naked mole rats and bats and bowhead whales all do that most animals don't. Every time you celebrate a finding in one species, you're probably announcing that you've finally caught up to something evolution already solved somewhere else.