Lizard in the House (Sort Of): Meet Jamie

For the last 24 hours, I've had a new project.

Not a business project. Not a writing project. Not anything you could reasonably call productive.

A lizard.

Yesterday, in the middle of a storm big enough to rattle the windows, we found what looked like a lizard in the house. Though, to be fair, he wasn't all the way in. He was wedged between the window and the screen, right where a tiny tear had been quietly waiting for someone to notice it.

He noticed.

Somewhere in the chaos of that storm, this teeny baby lizard had squeezed through and gotten himself stuck.

So I looked at him and did the only sensible thing.

"Okay, little guy. You can stay until the storm passes."

At that point, I genuinely believed I was just letting a wild animal wait out the weather. A neutral, temporary arrangement.

That was before I named him.

Jamie.

And here's the thing nobody tells you: once you name the lizard, they become an honorary member of the family.

How a Lizard in the House Became a Full Family Rescue Mission

Then my daughter found him.

"I love Jamie."

A few minutes later, with a great deal more feeling:

"I LOVE HIM."

Yes. She loved the lizard. Fully, immediately, no hesitation.

She did, however, have terms.

Jamie was lovely. Jamie was wonderful. Jamie was, apparently, already a cherished member of the family.

But Jamie belonged outside.

Honestly? I respected the clarity.

So once the storm cleared, my mild concern for one small creature quietly transformed into a full-scale operation. I checked the screen. I studied the tear. I watched Jamie. I talked to Jamie.

I'm fairly certain Jamie did not care about a single word of it.

Still, somewhere along the way, I'd decided Jamie had a family out there. A worried lizard family, wondering where their baby had wandered off to.

Was this scientifically supported?

No.

Was I now emotionally invested in a lizard family reunion?

Completely.

Today, things escalated.

A much bigger lizard appeared outside the window. And she seemed to be looking right at Jamie.

That was all the evidence I needed.

"Jamie! Go! Your mama's here!"

Now, I have zero confirmation that this was Jamie's mother. It could have been his father. His aunt. His cousin. A neighbor. Some random lizard passing through, mildly alarmed by the woman inside the house shouting, "JAMIE, YOUR MAMA WANTS YOU."

But in my heart, it was settled.

Mama had come looking for her baby.

Unfortunately, Jamie did not appear to grasp the emotional weight of the moment.

So there we all were — watching and waiting for a baby lizard to make his move, his alleged mother standing by outside, and my daughter narrating her ongoing concern for her beloved Jamie.

Eventually, my husband stepped in. He lifted the top of the screen and gave Jamie a clear, dignified exit.

And finally, after roughly 24 hours as our smallest and least invited houseguest, Jamie was free.

Back outside, where he belonged.

My daughter watched him go.

"Bye, Jamie."

And that was that.

Our 24-hour lizard adventure was officially over.

There was something so ridiculously sweet about the whole thing. A tiny creature turns up during a storm, my daughter falls head over heels, the entire family rallies to send him home — and somehow, for exactly one day, Jamie became a very important part of our lives.

I'll never know if that bigger lizard was really his mother.

I'll never know if Jamie had the faintest idea that three humans had become personally invested in his future.

And I'm quite sure he never knew he had a name.

But I hope he found his way home. I hope he's out there right now doing whatever tiny Florida lizards do after surviving a storm and an unplanned overnight stay with a very concerned family.

My daughter loved him exactly the way he needed to be loved — enthusiastically, completely, and from a safe distance once he was back outside where he belonged.

And honestly, there are worse ways to spend 24 hours than making sure one very small creature gets home.

Bye, Jamie.

Please don't come back through the screen.

We love you.

But, as my daughter so wisely established: outside.

Waddle on, little Jamie.

About the Author | Day 227

I'm a soul-led coach, writer, entrepreneur, mother, and recovering perfectionist who somehow spent the last 24 hours emotionally invested in the safe return of a baby lizard named Jamie.

For 227 days straight, I've been writing about life as it actually happens — the meaningful moments, the messy ones, the beautifully ordinary ones, and apparently now the reptile rescues too.

Karma Penguin is a place for all of it. Because sometimes life hands you a big lesson, and sometimes it hands you a tiny lizard in a window.

Today, Jamie made the blog.

Day 227 of 365. Let's go.