They tell you when it’s your day, of course—not something to miss. They took your samples quite a while ago, and until you got the notice you’d almost forgotten. They tell you to come half an hour before opening.

The staff, all smiles, escort you through the gate—there’s no need to stamp your hand.

A wall of fish tanks lines the entry halls, full of tiny tetras, glass catfish, and glowing cichlids all ontologically recapitulating. You look into miniscule eyes, hunting for recognition or acknowledgement, but that will not come until later. Still, the glowing colors flicker pleasantly. Brilliant scales clothe each tiny body in endless possibilities.

Inside the monkey house, crouched figures scamper. As you approach, a dozen tiny mirrors gaze back at you from among leaves and vines. The diminutive marmosets glance furtively and dash away. A capuchin grins and bounces on a swing. His enthralled eyes follow your own, an unattended finger fumbling deep in his nose.  You spend five minutes watching the colobus monkeys, which follow you everywhere as you walk around their enclosure. You see an infant, curled up between the paws of its mother in a pose so similar to a photo from your childhood that your heart flutters in your chest.

The Great Cats exhibit is a bit of a flop. The hall’s attendant shepherds you to the best viewing spots, and even the reclusive jaguar slinks out briefly to stare up at you. The staff takes pictures for you, but you move on politely as soon as you can. The exhibit feels empty. They’re still majestic creatures, but the sense of connection just isn’t there.

It’s different in the Savannah House. Rhinos, giraffes, and elands each connect with you. Something indefinable in gait or posture—the wildebeest playing with its foal, —is familiar, familial. You laugh out loud with a hyena that sounds just like your favorite uncle, the one who never drops a punchline. When a tiny gembok tiptoes stealthily out of the sun-speckled shadows, you watch each other unblinkingly for several minutes, until some noisy children startle it. As it breaks for the acacia thicket, it swivels its fine-boned head back over its shoulder for one last glance. For an instant, you nearly hurdle the rail and follow it to safety.

You’re reluctant to enter the reptile house, but the staff gently encourages you. Many animals are sleeping, but the geckos and chameleons are fascinating. You strain to name the kinship here, but it floats like a faint scent on the breeze. Then you meet the anaconda.

It is draped on a branch, head resting on its coils as you approach. You wait, and its tongue flicks out. Then it flicks again, and the head rises as if drawn on a string, tracking invisible pheromones. Deep brown eyes open and follow the tongue as it points the way to you. The serpent shifts its massive coils, spilling down onto the leaf litter at the bottom of its enclosure, rustling towards the glass. Children squeal and adults gasp as it rises before you to stare directly into your eyes on seven feet of neck. A tear rolls down your nose—you have hypnotized a serpent.

…

Read the rest in Quantum Zoo