🔗 Share this article

We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge 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 canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” 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 round the table, dodging power cords.

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

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 canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

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

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, right after …” I reply.

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

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

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 get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

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

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” 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 dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, pivots and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are asleep. 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 gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.