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We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles 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 ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “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, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up 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 dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears 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, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens 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 dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I get up before dawn 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 walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

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

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.