After a Year of Avoiding Each Other, the Feline and Canine Have Declared War.

We come back from our holiday to a completely different household: the oldest one, the middle child and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for over two weeks. The food in the fridge looks unfamiliar, bought from unknown stores. The kitchen table looks like the hub of a shady trading scheme, with monitors all around and electrical cables crisscrossing at hip level. Under the counter, the dog and the cat are scrapping.

“They’re fighting?” I ask.

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

The canine traps the feline, by the rear entrance. The cat rears up on its hind legs and nips the dog's ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, avoiding cables.

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

The cat rolls over on its spine, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog falls for it, and the feline digs its nails into the dog's snout. The canine retreats, with the cat sliding along, clinging below.

“I liked it better when they avoided one another,” I state.

“I believe they enjoy it,” the oldest one remarks. “It's not always clear.”

My wife walks in.

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

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

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

“Yeah, I passed that on, but they never showed up,” I add. Scaffolding is expensive, 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’ll do it, right after …” I reply.

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 animals halt, turn, stare at her, and then roll out of the room as a fighting mass.

The pets battle intermittently through the morning. Sometimes it seems to be edging beyond playful, but the cat has ample opportunity to escape through the flap and it keeps coming back for more. To get away from the noise I go to my shed, which is icy, left without heat for a fortnight. Finally I return to the kitchen, among the monitors and cables and the children and pets.

The sole period the dog and the cat stop fighting is before their meal, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The feline approaches the cabinet, settles, and gazes at me.

“Miaow,” it voices.

“Dinner is at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The feline starts pawing the cabinet with its claws.

“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.

“One hour,” I declare.

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

“I won’t,” I insist.

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

“Alright then,” I say.

I give food to the pets. The canine devours its meal, and then crosses the room to watch the cat eat. When the cat is finished, it swivels and takes a casual swipe at the canine. The dog gets the end of its nose beneath the feline and turns it over. The feline dashes, stops, turns and strikes.

“Stop it!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look at me, before carrying on.

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 me typing.

The eldest's partner enters the room, dressed for work, and gets water at the counter.

“You’re up early,” she comments.

“Yes,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I must work now, in case it goes on and on.”

“You’ll enjoy the break,” she notes.

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

“Have fun,” she says, heading out.

The light is growing, showing a gray day. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I notice the turtle sitting in the corner. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball begins moving slowly from upstairs.