Following a Year of Ignoring Each Other, the Cat and the Dog Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our vacation 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 refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

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

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

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

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she responds.

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

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

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

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace 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, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

“You know you’re just gonna give in,” the oldest one 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 watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, 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, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” 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 asleep. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.