After a Year of Avoiding Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, 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 liked it better when they avoided one another,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, 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 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 are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together 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 say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one says.

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day 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 my keyboard.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

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

“Indeed,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.