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We come back from our vacation 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 food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle child says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she responds.

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up 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 point out. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I say. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she adds, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, 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 snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.