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We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

“Common perhaps, but not typical,” I say.

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. 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 spouse asks.

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. 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 dog and the cat 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, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, pivots and strikes.

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

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.