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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. 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 oldest one says. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, 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 say.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and strikes.

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

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she notes.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.