After a Year of Ignoring One Another, the Cat and the Dog Are Now at War.

We come back from our vacation to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle child replies.

The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. 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 the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“Normal maybe, but not natural,” I say.

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

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

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one says. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, 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 will, just as soon as …” I say.

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

“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The animals halt, turn, look at her, and then tumble away as a fighting mass.

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, 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 retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the main room, 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 agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cabinet with its front paws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the oldest one observes.

“I won’t,” I say.

“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, turns and attacks.

“Stop it!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look 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 only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she adds, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. 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.