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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

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

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

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 icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, 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 agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns 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, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I say. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry 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.