🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I ask.

“Yes, this is normal now,” the middle one replies.

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The feline turns on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. 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 preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

“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 notes.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

“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, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

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

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity 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, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room 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 flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, 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 must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.