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We come back from our holiday 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 food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. 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. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle one 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 canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily 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, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

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

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

“One hour,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one says.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, 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 gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day 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 only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

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

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

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.