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We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen 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 scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, 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 dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, 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’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time 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 animals halt, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, 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 main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

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

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.