Demarcation By Nikki Mentges   I My neighbors aren’t human. That’s not to say they’re aliens or anything. They’re just, well … a little outside the standard definition of “neighborly.” I spend a week in January just noticing them, cataloguing them, and I end up sucked into their adjoining world. Or maybe it’s the other way ‘round. Or maybe—and this feels the most right—it’s all the same world, because honestly there’re no boundaries here, no concrete divisions one can claim. Good luck finding a northwoods Mason-Dixon Line; I don’t think it exists. Roads, you say? Buildings? Just a change of scenery. The bats and spiders don’t mind. We’ve just got this one mish-mashed world, full of nature and humanity doing the “strangers at a…