After 12 Months of Ignoring Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Declared War.

We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle one replies.

The canine traps the feline, 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 round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. 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, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” 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 costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Can you call them again?” my wife says.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, look around, look at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The only time the pets stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. 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 gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise 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 comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.