🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, 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 waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“Common perhaps, but not natural,” 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 cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“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.

“Yeah, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

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

“I’ll do it, just as soon as …” I reply.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time 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 looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

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

“That's the wrong spot,” I say. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

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

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are asleep. 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 from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry 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 from upstairs.