Following 12 Months of Avoiding Each Other, the Cat and the Dog Have Declared War.

We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the eldest's partner have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The refrigerator contents looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The dining table resembles the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, 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.

“Yes, this happens regularly,” the middle child replies.

The dog corners the cat, 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, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its back, assuming a passive stance to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat dragged behind, clinging below.

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

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

My wife walks in.

“I expected the scaffolding removal,” she says.

“They suggested waiting for rain,” I explain, “to make sure the roof is fixed.”

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

“Yeah, I told them that, but they never showed up,” I say. Scaffolding costs a lot, until removal is needed, then they’re content to keep it indefinitely at no charge.

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

“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.

“Stop fighting!” my spouse shouts. The animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle 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 keeps coming back for more. To escape the commotion I retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and my sons and the cat and the dog.

The only time the pets are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they work together to get food earlier. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and gazes at me.

“Meow,” it says.

“Dinner is at six,” I tell it. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its claws.

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

“Sixty minutes,” I say.

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

“I won’t,” I say.

“Meow,” the cat says. The dog barks.

“Ugh, fine,” I relent.

I give food to the pets. The dog eats its food, and then goes across to see the feline dine. When the cat is finished, it turns and lightly bats at the dog. The dog gets the end of its nose under the cat and flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, pivots and strikes.

“Enough!” I yell. The dog and the cat pause to glance at me, before carrying on.

The following day I get up before dawn to be in the calm kitchen while others sleep. Even the cat and the dog are asleep. Briefly the only sound in the house is my keyboard.

The eldest's partner walks into the kitchen, ready for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You rose early,” she comments.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve got a photo session later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

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

“Indeed,” I say. “Meeting people, talking.”

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

The light is growing, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in bunches. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a fighting duo starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.