We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping.
“They fight?” I ask.
“Yeah, this happens regularly,” the middle child replies.
The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, dodging power cords.
“Common perhaps, but not natural,” I say.
The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.
“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I state.
“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
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.”
“And I said I didn’t want to wait,” she says.
“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, 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 say.
The sole moment 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 wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.
The dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, 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, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.
The sole period the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they work together 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 say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its front paws.
“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to support the feline.
“Sixty minutes,” I declare.
“You know you’re just gonna give in,” the eldest observes.
“No I’m not,” I insist.
“Miaow,” the feline cries. The canine barks.
“Ugh, fine,” I relent.
I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.
“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.
The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is my keyboard.
The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.
“You rose early,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”
“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she notes.
“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, talking.”
“Enjoy,” she adds, heading out.
The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.
