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We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things 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 monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up 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, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its back, 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 dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

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

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yes, 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 with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle 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 retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting 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.

“Meow,” it says.

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

“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 eldest observes.

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. 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 canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.