Following 12 Months of Ignoring One Another, the Cat and the Dog Have Started Fighting.

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands 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 say.

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 snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I say.

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

My spouse enters.

“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 says.

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Will you phone them once more?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting 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, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, 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 cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

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

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

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The canine barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

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

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Indeed,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Enjoy,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.