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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, 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, hooked underneath.

“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 expected the scaffolding removal,” 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.

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, 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 will, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

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 go to my shed, 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 sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it says.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.