After a Year of Ignoring Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Declared War.

We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining 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 canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle one says.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“Common perhaps, but not natural,” 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 muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

“I preferred it when they avoided one another,” I state.

“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

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

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes 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.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

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

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, talking.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.