🔗 Share this article

We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, 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. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

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 as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one says.

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

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 swivels and lightly bats at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause to glance at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

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

“Indeed,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.