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We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture 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 sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My spouse enters.

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

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

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she says.

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

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

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 returns repeatedly. 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 the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest 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 watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session later, 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 notes.

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

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.