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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge 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 computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle child replies.

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, 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 were afraid of each other,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

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

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one observes.

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Meow,” the feline cries. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she adds, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.