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We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle child replies.

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 dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” 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 wife says.

“I will, right after …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it says.

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

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

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe 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 get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

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

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

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

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 from upstairs.