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We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle child says.

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better when they were afraid of each other,” I say.

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

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

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, 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 before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door 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 says.

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” 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 lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” 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 from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.