The postcard in a Summertown shop window was both amusing and, to any pet lover, just a little upsetting. It carried an appeal for a missing pet tortoise, with the distinguishing feature of a large dent on the left of its shell, which “answers to the name of Cynthia”.

Now ‘answer’ is precisely what a tortoise is unable to do (allegedly, but do read on), which is why — according to a recent correspondent to the Daily Telegraph — they can be given extravagant names. Arthur Ord-Hume, of Guildford, wrote last Thursday: “My tortoises, who do not need short names since they never come when called, are Clytaemnestra and Aristophanes.”

“Is there something in the psyche of tortoise owners, or is it the influence these creatures have on their owners, which urges us to give them heroic names?” asked Caroline Horsley, of Cogolin, in France. “As a child mine were called Tutankhamun and Cassiopeia, although they, too, never came when I called.

But Annie Garnett, of Shaftsbury, wrote to say: “My tortoise is called Walnut; she does come when called. Perhaps Mr Ord-Hume should have given his tortoises shorter names, then they, too, would have come when called.”

The fascinating correspondence, which has lasted for the best part of a week in the Telegraph, was sparked off by a news report in which the Cats Protection charity revealed that “Saffron, Sushi and Pringle are now among the most common cat names, as owners ditch traditional monikers in favour of food references”.

Mr Ord-Hume’s principal point was that “cats should have short names that will stand the test of being shouted out repeatedly at dead of night. This is why I call my cat Tycho”.

This certainly struck a chord with a reader in my home. As a child in Wimbledon, Rosemarie acquired a long-haired dachshund of notable, even aristocratic, pedigree. He came with the Kennel Club name of Ernst von Aardvaark.

Picture the scene at night as Rosemarie’s dad repeatedly called the animal in from his garden excercise. “Ernst, Ernst. I sound like a bloody sea lion,” he complained.

Ernst became — and remained — Ernie, aka ‘Our Ern’.

Canon Rodney Matthews, of London E4, chipped in on Tuesday to tell us: “When I lived in a suburban semi-detached house as a boy my father named our ginger tom Perkins.

“Asked why, he said: ‘When we call him from the garden at night people will think we have a butler.’”

David Hill, from Shrivenham, in Oxfordshire, wrote to say there was no need to shout out cats’ names to summon them at the dead of night. “My father would go in the garden and sharpen his carving knife on the steel. Worked every time.”

Returning to the subject that originally provoked the correspondence, Lyme Regis’s Julie Juniper — whose own name sounds like an invention — said her cats had been named after food for many years.

“We were trying to think of a name for our first kitten while eating in an Indian restaurant in Wimbledon Broadway, so Bhuna she became, and lived a long and healthy life. Since then we have had Korma,Tikka, Jhinga, Kulfi and Kheema.”

My photographs today, though they are of animals, have no connection with the Telegraph correspondence. They were sent to me from the Greek island of Naxos and feature proud mum Daisy and her seven adorable pups. They are being looked after and homed by the Naxos Animal Welfare Society, an organisation that I try to help when I can.

In view of the well-publicised difficulties facing the country, it seems likely that the care of animals, never a Greek priority at the best of times, might move even farther down the agenda.

To find out more about Naws and its work, go to the website (www.naws.on-naxos.com.