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We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, 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 sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, 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 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 get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables 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 work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The following day I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she says.

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

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she notes.

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

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

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress from upstairs.