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We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, 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, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, 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 snout. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I say.

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one 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 make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The sole moment the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away 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 escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. 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, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You rose early,” she says.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.