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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 refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

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 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 says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

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

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

The sole moment the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap 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. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace 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 says.

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

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest observes.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog 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 turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” 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 notes.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Meeting people, talking.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. 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.