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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

“Normal maybe, but not typical,” I comment.

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I state.

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

“But I told them I couldn’t wait,” she responds.

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The sole moment the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I declare.

“You know you’re just gonna give in,” the oldest one observes.

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.