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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child 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 kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, 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 avoided one another,” I say.

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep 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 are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, 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 cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

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

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

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

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, 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 exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.