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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge 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 power cords dividing the space at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. 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.

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

The feline turns 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 canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, 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.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The sole moment the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems 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 freezing cold, 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 only time the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. The canine barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, 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 gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls from the big cherry 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.