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We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over 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 muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“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 notes.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” 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 wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The sole moment the canine and feline cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. 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 dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“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 back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. 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 takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the sole noise is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

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

“Indeed,” I say. “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 bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.