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We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for over two weeks. The food in the fridge is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle one replies.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“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 confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, right after …” I say.

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

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it says.

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

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, 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 uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

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

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she notes.

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

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

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.