Ojdå, Nubbin, Holmes and Taz. I’ve put just as much effort into selecting the right name for my pets as I did my children. Maybe more. (Animals don’t have the option of changing it later.)

My first cat was a free tabby Igot from a friend in college. Those were the days when Nintendo’s first major video game, Super Mario Brothers, claimed my television set at all hours, and the beeps and boops that passed for music and sound effects invaded my dreams. I named the cat Pooka after the sound made by Mario kicking a turtle shell out of his way.

A few years later, we adopted a petite russet-and-gray tortoiseshell who was happiest asleep in a lap. We named her Älg, a Swedish word pronounced “Ellie” – which was a perfectly reasonable name for this sweet, demure kitty. The joke was that “älg” means “moose.”

Our next cat was another freebie whose short fur was the color of muddy dirt. We went with Clod.

Our current kitty is a beautiful calico who started life as an awkward, spiky-haired shelter cat. Short on looks but long on personality, we named her Gizmo after the funny, furry creatures in the movie “Gremlins.”

Animals deserve better names than Fluffy or Spot. You don’t have to be as florid as T.S. Eliot (“Here, Bombalurina”?), but don’t be afraid to get creative. They like that.