🔗 Share this article

We return home from our holiday 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 food in the fridge is strange, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table resembles 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 scrapping.

“They fight?” I say.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its back legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The canine flicks the cat away and chases it in circles the kitchen table, avoiding cables.

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

The feline turns on its spine, 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 dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.

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

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

My spouse enters.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she notes.

“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “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 is expensive, until removal is needed, 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 sole moment the dog and cat 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 animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.

The dog and the cat fight on and off all morning. At times it appears to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it returns repeatedly. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, sits, 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 front paws.

“That's the wrong spot,” I point out. The canine yaps, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

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

“Ugh, fine,” I say.

I feed the cat and the dog. The canine devours its meal, and then goes across to see the feline dine. After the cat eats, it swivels and lightly bats at the dog. The dog uses its snout under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, halts, pivots and attacks.

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

The next morning I get up before dawn to sit in the quiet kitchen before anyone else wakes. 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, dressed for work, and gets water from the sink.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I need to get some work done, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she says.

“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop off the large tree in bunches. I notice the turtle in the room's corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo begins moving slowly from upstairs.