After 12 Months of Avoiding One Another, the Cat and the Dog Are Now at War.

We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, 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 hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yes, this is normal now,” the middle child replies.

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity 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. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, amid the screens and the wires 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 agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up 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 canine yaps, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Stop it!” I yell. 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 asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“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.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.