🔗 Share this article

We return home from our vacation to a completely different household: the eldest child, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The refrigerator contents is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with monitors all around and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are fighting.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and pursues it around the kitchen table, dodging power cords.

“Common perhaps, 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 muzzle. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, hooked underneath.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she notes.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to confirm the roof repair.”

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

“Yes, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I add. 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 will, just as soon as …” I say.

The only time the canine and feline are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they team up to push for earlier food.

“Quit battling!” my spouse shouts. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look 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 cat has ample opportunity to leave via the cat door 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 main room, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the pets stop fighting is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, and looks up at me.

“Miaow,” it says.

“Food happens at six,” I tell it. “It's only five now.” The feline starts pawing the cupboard door with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I point out. The canine yaps, to support the feline.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“No I’m not,” I say.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it turns and takes a casual swipe at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and turns it over. The cat runs, halts, pivots and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause to glance at me, before resuming.

The following day I rise early to sit in the quiet kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. For a few minutes the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The oldest one’s girlfriend enters the room, ready for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session today, so I need to get some work done, if it runs long.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Indeed,” I say. “Seeing others, saying things.”

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

The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Foliage falls from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise in the room's corner. We share a sad look as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.