We arrive home from our holiday to another household altogether: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping. After more than a year of avoiding each other, both animals have suddenly gone on the offensive.
“They fight?” I say.
“Yeah, this is normal now,” the middle one says.
The dog corners the cat, over near the back door. The cat rears up on its hind legs and bites the dog’s left ear. The dog shakes the cat off and chases it in circles round the table, dodging power cords.
“Normal maybe, but not natural,” I say.
The cat rolls over on its back, adopting a submissive posture to draw the dog in. The dog takes the bait, and the cat sinks two sets of claws into the dog’s muzzle. The dog backs away, with the cat sliding along, hooked underneath.
“I preferred it when they were afraid of each other,” I say.
“I think they’re having fun,” the oldest one says. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
My wife walks in.
“I thought they were going to take the scaffolding down,” she says.
“They said maybe wait until it rains,” I say, “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 still didn’t come,” I say. Scaffolding is expensive, until you want it gone, at which point they’re happy to leave it with you for ever for free.
“Can you call them again?” my wife says.
“I will, just as soon as …” I say.
“Stop fighting!” my wife screams. The dog and the cat stop, turn, look at her, and then roll out of the room in a snarling ball.
The dog and the cat fight on and off all 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 retreat to my garden office, which is freezing cold, having sat unheated for two weeks. Eventually I’m driven back to the kitchen, amid the screens and the wires and my sons and the cat and the dog.
The only time the dog and the cat are at peace is in the hour before feeding time, when they agitate in concert to bring feeding forward by an hour. The cat walks to the cupboard door, sits, and looks up at me.
“Miaow,” it says.
“Food happens at six,” I say. “Right now it’s five.” The cat begins to knead the cupboard door with its front paws.
“That’s not even the right cupboard,” I say. The dog barks, to back up the cat.
“One hour,” I say.
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“You know you’re just gonna give in,” the oldest one says.
“No I’m not,” I say.
“Miaow,” the cat says. The dog barks.
“Ugh, fine,” I say.
I feed the cat and the dog. The dog eats its food, and then crosses the room 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 flips it upside down. The cat runs, stops, turns and attacks.
“Enough!” I say. The dog and the cat pause briefly to look 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 me typing.
The oldest one’s girlfriend walks into the kitchen, dressed for work, and fills a water bottle from the sink.
“You’re up early,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go to a photoshoot later, so I need to get some work done now, in case it goes on and on.”
“That’ll be a nice day out for you,” she says.
“Yes it will,” I say. “Meeting people, saying things.”
“Have fun,” she says, striding towards the front door.
The windows have begun to pale, revealing an overcast morning. Leaves drop from the big cherry tree in armfuls. I see the tortoise sitting in the corner of the room. We exchange a sorrowful glance as a snarling, rolling ball starts to make its slow progress down the stairs.
Join Tim Dowling at a special Guardian Live event on Wednesday 26 November. The evening of Guardian culture will be hosted by Nish Kumar and include Georgina Lawton, who will host a live You be the judge, and Meera Sodha. Live in London or via livestream, book tickets here
