After a Year of Avoiding One Another, the Cat and the Dog Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been managing things for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yes, this is normal now,” the middle child says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails 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 say.

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

My spouse enters.

“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 never showed up,” 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’ll do it, right after …” I say.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the 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, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting 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.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

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

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.