🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to an entirely changed home: the eldest child, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been managing things for over two weeks. 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 canine and feline are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I say.

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

The dog corners the cat, by the rear entrance. The feline stands on its back legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

“Common perhaps, but not typical,” I comment.

The feline turns on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to lure the canine closer. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

“I liked it better 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 said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until you want it gone, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

“Can you call them again?” my spouse asks.

“I will, right after …” I say.

The only time the dog and cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward an hour.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, look around, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The pets battle on and off all morning. Sometimes it seems more serious than fun, but the feline can easily to leave via the cat door and it returns repeatedly. 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, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

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 gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“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 declare.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The canine barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. After the cat eats, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The pets hesitate briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

The next morning I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen before anyone else wakes. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the sole noise is me typing.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, 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 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.”

“Enjoy,” she says, striding towards the front door.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a fighting duo begins moving slowly down the stairs.