I grabbed my breakfast bowl and headed into the living room. I plopped myself down on the couch and that’s when I saw him, sitting on one of the recliner chairs as if he was part of the decor, his black and white fur complementing the dark gray chair.

Teo is not our cat. But were you to come into our house, you would think otherwise.

This is not the first time Michael has befriended a neighbor’s cat. The first time he did it, we eventually became the new owners.

When I told our new neighbors this, Michael assured them that wouldn’t happen this time.

“I don’t want an indoor/outdoor cat,” Michael tells me. The ticks. The gifts of innards left on our doorstep. The gift of a not-yet-killed creature entering our open window in the clutches of Teo’s mouth.

If Michael didn’t want an indoor cat bringing things in from the outside, why did he let the cat in the house the first time it sat peering in through our sliding glass door?

Because Michael can’t resist a cute animal. And cute animals know this.

Once summer arrived, Teo didn’t need us to play butler. Michael was always sure we had the window open in the library so Teo could come and go as he pleased. (In many parts of Spain, screens in windows are not common as they are not usually needed.)

Our next-door neighbor explained that Teo had wormed his way into the heart of the previous resident of our home. This is why he showed up simply expecting the routine to continue.

“But please don’t feed him,” she said. “He’s on a vegetarian diet.”

Except for the occasional mouse or bird, of course.

We don’t feed Teo. But Michael has bought toys for him to play with. And a bed for him to sleep in, though he prefers to take his daytime naps on Michael’s recliner chair. Or on Michael’s desk.

We’ve learned to close various doors at night as, should Teo have free-reign to come and go as he pleases, he likes to come and go throughout the night and let us know when he’s around.

But the library window? That remains open. Thankfully we have a door that separates the common areas of our house from the bedrooms and offices, so we can limit his wandering into that part of the house after a certain hour.

Fall has arrived. Michael wants me to leave the library window open. I prefer that our habits revolve around our needs and not the needs of a cat, let alone one he doesn’t want to own.

“Then we’ll have to figure out where we can put a cat flap,” he says. “All the windows open horizontally, so that’s a problem. . . “

There are other options, but we rent this house, so making structural changes is not the best idea, in my opinion. Especially for a cat that isn’t even ours!

“We could just go back to what we did when we moved in here in March–let him in and out ourselves,” I offer. Michael looks at me as if that is the silliest thing I’ve ever said.

I guess it could be worse. I could have a spouse who spends too much money. Or drinks too much. Or wants to return to the US.

So if you come to our house for a visit this fall and wonder why the house is so cold, why I’m bundled up in my coat when I open the door to greet you, you’ll know Teo has won.