Following a Year of Ignoring Each Other, the Cat and the Dog Have Declared War.

We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child 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 looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“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.

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

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, pivots and attacks.

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

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed 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 today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Enjoy,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.