I named one of those damncats at Annie-Glenn’s Bed and Breakfast for Ricky Swindle.

Not many in that colony have names. There are a few that are called by their markings. “Sharpie” is one. Miss Annie-Glenn calls her that because of the sharp, arrow-shaped white patch on the damncat’s nose that stands out in contrast to her dark face.

There are several more that have gained names at the spur of the moment when I had caught them in traps and carried them to the vet’s office for neutering. The vet always includes a rabies vaccine for which a record is generated. Records require names. So I usually offer the first thing that comes to mind. “Peggy Sue” is one I remember having blurted out for one of those damncats. Don’t know why.

But I do know why I named one Ricky Swindle. My wife was with me a couple of Saturday mornings ago when we walked outside from Miss Annie-Glenn’s to get in the car. From under the car we heard the sharp, loud MEOW! from a very small damncat.

In my family when loud MEOWS! come from under the car, the car doesn’t move until the source of the sound is located. Not ever. It’s a tradition.

This MEOW! proved especially difficult to locate. We looked behind the tires, around the tires, on top of the tires. We looked under the hood and then again behind the tires. And finally we spotted the little creature inside the coils of the strut. At least I think that’s what the part is called. They used to be shock absorbers before they started calling them struts and charging more for them.

From the small damncat’s perspective, it must have looked like the huge bars of a small cell from which he could figure no escape.

Nor could I. I poked and probed with my gloved hand. The damncat MEOWED! and spat. Again, I looked under the hood to see if there was an alternate access to the feline. There was not.

Then I glanced up the street where I could see Ricky Swindle’s pickup parked at his station where he’d pulled in after that Saturday morning’s Local Yokel Show. I thought to myself: if I can’t get this feline varmint out from inside this spring, I’m going have to go up there and get some help.

Fortunately, I was spared the humiliation and Ricky was spared the embarrassment. With that gloved hand I was able to grab the nape of the damncat’s neck and pull him through those coils.

“MEOW!”

Since them, he’s become the smallest damncat to join the colony. He hasn’t missed a meal.  I decided to try to tame him. The first step was giving him a name and, as I said before, I’ve named damncats with a whole lot less to go on.