The crickets know that the hardest part is getting started. But once they start in making the yogurt, there’s very little anyone can do to convince them that they shouldn’t be wearing blue jeans. They’re crickets after all. And what they like to do is slap their pointy knees and let loose with the two-fisted biscuits. In some parts of the yard, the mice especially don’t take to the hamsters. Hamsters ain’t supposed to be out there they reckon. But they show them the way back in through the dryer vent, up into the space between the walls (being careful to avoid the bones), and out into the CATSPACE.
There are a few rules regarding the CATSPACE. There are no cats in the CATSPACE. But don’t tell that to the dogs if you can find any dogs because there are no dogs. If there were dogs, they’d be cats and that’s why we call it the DOGSPACE.
The DOGSPACE is full of unanswered text messages. Written by centipedes in more hopeful times, they just sit there on the floor, sticking to the cabinets, lining the hallways, tucked behind picture frames, plastered over the windows resisting the sun, framing the doorways, cluttering the doorstep, filling the mailbox. If the snakes that occupy the front lawn had fingers, they’d tap out responses, but they don’t. Because they belong to a union. Yogurt Maker’s Union Local 312. In this union, the snakes are hired to shed their skin and smell the air with their tongues. None of the snakes like doing this, but that’s their job. That’s what they came to the front yard to do.
The front yard is full of snakes.