🔗 Share this article

We return home from our holiday 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 dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

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

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, 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 spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, right after …” I say.

The sole moment the canine and feline cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and strikes.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

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