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We come back from our vacation 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 looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest says. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

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 leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, 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 sole period the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before carrying on.

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.