Following a Year of Ignoring One Another, the Feline and Canine Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

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 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 sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “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 say. Scaffolding costs a lot, 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 will, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” 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 say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” 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 canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

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

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

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

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