🔗 Share this article

We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: 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 kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yes, 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 bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, 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 dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

“I will, right after …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily 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, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” 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.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across 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 flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

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

The following day I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

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

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.