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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle one replies.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns 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 dragged behind, clinging below.

“I liked it better 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 said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the 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 retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables 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 bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

“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 says.

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels 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, halts, turns and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“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 light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.