🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with computer screens everywhere and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the canine and feline are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, over near the back door. The feline stands on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“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 snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, 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 sole moment the dog and cat cease fighting is just before mealtime, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, look around, stare at her, and then tumble away in a snarling ball.

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 go to my shed, which is freezing cold, 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 only time 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.

“Meow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its claws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

“You’ll cave in eventually,” the eldest says.

“No I’m not,” I insist.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and flips it upside down. The feline dashes, halts, turns and strikes.

“Enough!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before resuming.

The next morning I rise early to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the sole noise is me typing.

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

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot today, so I must work now, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly down the stairs.