🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle child says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind 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 feline turns on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

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

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. 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 bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

“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 eldest observes.

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large 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.