🔗 Share this article

We return home from our holiday to an entirely changed home: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things 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 monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the canine and feline are scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. 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 preferred it when they avoided one another,” I state.

“I think they’re having fun,” the eldest remarks. “It's not always clear.”

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 add. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it with you for ever for free.

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

“I’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

The sole moment the dog and cat are at peace is just before mealtime, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” 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 dog and the cat fight intermittently through the morning. At times it appears more serious than fun, but the cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door and it keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the main room, amid the screens and the wires and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

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 dog. The dog uses its snout beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, pivots and strikes.

“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 before anyone else wakes. Both pets are sleeping. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she notes.

“Yes it will,” I agree. “Seeing others, talking.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The windows have begun to pale, showing a gray day. Foliage falls off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.