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We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline 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 hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, 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’ll do it, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room 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 leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting 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.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

“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.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine 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. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

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

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

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.