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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's 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 back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I say.

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

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, turns and attacks.

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, ready for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.