🔗 Share this article

We come back from our vacation 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 electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. 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 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, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My spouse enters.

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

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

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, 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 sole moment the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” 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 canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she comments.

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

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she says.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.