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We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining 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 scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, 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 canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I state.

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

“You know you’re just gonna give in,” the eldest observes.

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

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 gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and attacks.

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

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she says.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.