🔗 Share this article

We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents 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 waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They fight?” I say.

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

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 draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I preferred it when they avoided one another,” I state.

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

My wife walks in.

“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.

“Yes, I told them that, but they still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Will you phone them once more?” my wife says.

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The only time the dog and cat cease fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to bring feeding forward an hour.

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

The pets battle on and off all morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to escape through the flap 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. Finally I return 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 work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its claws.

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

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I insist.

“Miaow,” the cat says. 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. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, stops, turns and attacks.

“Enough!” I yell. The pets hesitate to glance at me, before resuming.

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are sleeping. 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 at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

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

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

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

“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.