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We return home from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, 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 the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

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

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

“But I told them I couldn’t 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, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all 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 escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, pivots and attacks.

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

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” 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.

“Indeed,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.