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We come back 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 more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, 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 pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

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

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. 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. At times it appears 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, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return 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 work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. 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 feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and strikes.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.