🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, 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 expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, right after …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. 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 in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, settles, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet 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 oldest one observes.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the feline cries. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Both pets are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, 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, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.