Sleepless sister uses her hungry cat’s dawn yowls to pay back nights of nonstop dog barking: ‘‘They bark. At any and all movement, joggers, cars, the garbage truck, rabbits, squirrels, you name it, they bark at it’

Inside this duplex the upstairs branch fields two large dogs with zero training, parked outside full-time and groomed by evolution for perimeter alerts. Joggers, trash trucks, and imaginary burglars all receive equal sonic treatment. Night after night the downstairs tenant counts barks instead of sheep. Then feline justice enters the ledger. Two cats, one automatic feeder, and a missed meal create a chorus sharp enough to slice plaster. The louder of the pair announces hunger every sixty seconds, claws ticking like metronomes on hardwood. Headphones protect the architect of the plan, while the sister who previously shrugged at canine racket stares at the ceiling at five in the morning, awake in her own acoustic purgatory. In petty warfare victory rarely tastes sweet, yet silence finally arrives by nine when the pet store opens.