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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“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 says.

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, right after …” I reply.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. 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 the children and pets.

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, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

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 takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.