🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” 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 never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back 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 stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. 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 canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“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 be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Enjoy,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.