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We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner 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. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle one replies.

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 dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

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 muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“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 says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

“But I told them I couldn’t wait,” she responds.

“Yes, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” 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 spouse asks.

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

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, look around, look at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, 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 pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“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.

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

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.