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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“Common perhaps, but not natural,” I say.

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time 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.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all 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 go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “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 canine yaps, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the feline cries. The canine 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 swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance 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 sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.