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We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents 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 hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

“Common perhaps, but not typical,” 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 muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I liked it better when they were afraid of each other,” I say.

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

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

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

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap 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 main room, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the pets stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its claws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog 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. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause to glance at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “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 says.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Enjoy,” 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 share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.