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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

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

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

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, 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 say.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, 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. Sometimes it seems 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 retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, 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.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“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 support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. For a few minutes the sole noise is my keyboard.

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

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.