After a Year of Ignoring Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Started Fighting.

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 more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles 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 scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, 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 canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, stare 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 escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets stop fighting is before their meal, 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.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “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 say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine 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. When the cat is finished, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.