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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: 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 hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

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 dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one says. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. 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 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.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” 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 turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yeah,” 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 notes.

“Indeed,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”

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

The light is growing, 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 snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.