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We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

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

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, 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 spouse asks.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, 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 dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together 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 tell it. “It's only five now.” 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’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest observes.

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

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

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

“Indeed,” I agree. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.