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We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yes, this is normal now,” 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 canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. 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 dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

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

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to push for earlier food.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

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, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels and lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

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

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

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

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.