🔗 Share this article

We come back from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle one says.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up 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 typical,” I say.

The feline turns on its spine, 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 dragged behind, clinging below.

“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.

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

My spouse enters.

“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.”

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it indefinitely at no charge.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“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.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

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 returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look 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 my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, 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 snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.