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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 more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” 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 sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door 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 oldest one says.

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. The canine barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

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

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.