🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “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 explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, 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 with you for ever for free.

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

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap 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, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

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

“Meow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” 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.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the feline cries. The dog 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. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet 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 gets water at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

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

The light is growing, 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 snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.