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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its back, 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, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

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

“Yes, 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’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.