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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. 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 cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The sole moment the canine and feline are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle 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 escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. 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 only time the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “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 back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, 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 notes.

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

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

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.