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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

“Normal maybe, but not typical,” I say.

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture 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 dragged behind, clinging below.

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

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

My wife walks in.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I say, “to confirm the roof repair.”

“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she responds.

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems 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, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing 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’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest says.

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The canine 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 takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, talking.”

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

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.