🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen 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 scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off 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 falls for it, 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 liked it better 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 wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

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

“But I told them I couldn’t wait,” she responds.

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, 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, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, 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 icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return 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 in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The dog barks, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before carrying on.

The following day 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 only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, 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 say. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.