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We come back from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the feline digs its nails into the dog’s muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I say.

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” 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 say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to push for earlier food.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, 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 work together to get food earlier. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

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

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Alright then,” 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 swivels and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and turns it over. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. Briefly the only sound in the house is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she says.

“Yes,” I reply. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.