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We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. 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, clinging below.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, 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, 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 bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, 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 are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it says.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and attacks.

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

The following day I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

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

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

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

“Have fun,” she adds, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.