🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle child replies.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one says. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

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

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

“I will, just as soon as …” 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 spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door 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. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period 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, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

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

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

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

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.