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We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws 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 remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I say, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

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

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

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert 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 claws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

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

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Enjoy,” she adds, striding towards the front door.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.