🔗 Share this article

We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she responds.

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, right after …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes 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 not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she says.

“Indeed,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.