After a Year of Ignoring Each Other, the Cat and the Dog Have Declared War.

We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: 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 dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle child says.

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

“Common perhaps, but not typical,” I comment.

The cat rolls over on its spine, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The dog backs away, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

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

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears 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 retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” 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 while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” 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 fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.