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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

“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.

“Yes, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

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

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

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, 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 leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

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

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I declare.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one observes.

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. 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 gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate 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 my keyboard.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

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

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

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

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.