After 12 Months of Ignoring Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” 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 the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

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

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early 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 at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot 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 says.

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

“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.