After 12 Months of Ignoring Each Other, the Cat and the Dog Are Now at War.

We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: 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 monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up 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 draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails 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 oldest one says. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I reply.

The sole moment the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

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, sits, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” 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.

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, pivots and attacks.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, 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.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.