After a Year of Ignoring One Another, the Feline and Canine Are Now at War.

We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline 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 cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

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.

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

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

“I will, right after …” I reply.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

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 returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

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

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

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

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. 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 from upstairs.