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We come back from our holiday 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, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

“Common perhaps, but not typical,” I comment.

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 dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

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

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. 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 spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, 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. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

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

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.