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We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over 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 muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better when they were afraid of each other,” I say.

“I believe they enjoy it,” the eldest remarks. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“I will, right after …” I say.

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.

“Quit battling!” my wife screams. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

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 takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, stops, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

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

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

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

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

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.