In Loving Memory of Clyde

Striped Gecko | Wall-Climber, Sock-Hider, and Midnight Mischief Maker

Clyde wasn’t just a gecko—he was a legend. With bold stripes and a stare that could rival a disappointed librarian, Clyde ruled his terrarium like a tiny lizard emperor. He had a knack for drama, flair for the unexpected, and a suspicious obsession with socks.

One of Clyde’s favorite pastimes was escaping his enclosure—not to run away, but to hide inside freshly laundered socks. We’d find him curled up like a cinnamon roll in the toe of a tube sock, blinking slowly as if to say, “I live here now.”

He also had a habit of climbing the walls at night and launching surprise attacks on crickets with the precision of a ninja. Once, he mistook a dangling phone charger for a vine and tried to swing from it. The landing was less than graceful, but Clyde strutted away like it was all part of the plan.

Clyde was a master of the midnight stare. You’d wake up at 2 a.m. and find him pressed against the glass, watching you sleep like a tiny reptilian guardian—or maybe plotting something. Either way, it was comforting. Mostly.

He was clever, curious, and just the right amount of weird. Clyde made us laugh, made us wonder, and made socks a little more exciting. His stripes were bold, but his personality was even bolder.

We miss you, Clyde. Thanks for the laughs, the lizard logic, and the sock surprises.