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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. 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 waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, 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 chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” 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 says.

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, 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 reply.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all 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 go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, 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.

“Meow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one observes.

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause 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. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “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.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.