Every day, Mercedes Reyes takes the little boy she nannies to the California Academy of Sciences as part of their morning walk. And every day, they stop to visit Claude. But on Wednesday, Claude wasn’t there. The 30-year-old albino alligator died Tuesday.

The 1-year-old noticed the absence immediately and burst into tears. 

“We loved him,” said Reyes, who took videos whenever the typically relaxed reptile would “put on a show.” The most recent was recorded early last week. 

“He was like a cat,” she said. “He only moved when he wanted to move, not when you wanted him to.”  

Minutes later, the little boy was happily hugging a stuffed Claude bigger than he was. All the smaller ones had sold out, Reyes said. 

Whether buying merch or sharing memories, visitors and staff at the academy are finding ways to remember the beloved gator. A public memorial is in the works; meanwhile, messages for his dedicated care team can be sent to [email protected]

The museum announced (opens in new tab) Wednesday that Claude died of liver cancer. A necropsy by experts at UC Davis also found signs of liver failure and a systemic infection, but treatment options were limited and unlikely to succeed, the museum said in a press release. Until recently, Claude’s behavior appeared normal. A shift in his skin color and texture several weeks ago first alerted his caretakers that something was wrong.

Louis Romero works in guest services at the museum. On Wednesday, he stood overlooking the swamp that Claude called home for 17 years. Visitors would always ask about Claude when looking for directions to exhibits, he said, and many had been sad to hear of his death.

“Claude is someone special who brought guests joy when they came to visit the Academy,” he said. “He made an impact for his species.” 

He and his coworkers were in mourning. 

“Claude was like family to us,” Romero said. “He wasn’t just an animal in an exhibit.” 

Some staffers begin their workdays by sipping coffee at a viewing area above the swamp, a tradition that continued Wednesday as many arrived sporting Claude T-shirts and pins. 

“He was part of our daily routine,” said Eileen McAleer, who works in environmental education. “Saying good morning to Claude is a good way to start the day.” 

She had already heard from several teachers who had visited over the years and wanted to offer condolences. She was minutes away from having a class arrive for a field trip and still wasn’t sure what she was going to tell them about Claude’s death, but she hoped to focus on the positive.

“He lived a wonderful life here, and so many people got to engage with him,” she said. “He was very loved.” 

Leah Kalish works in the academy’s Careers in Science program, a paid internship for public high school students from communities underrepresented in STEM, including women and people of color. Many of the students in the program grew up with Claude, who arrived at the academy in 2008. 

“They’ve literally known this alligator their whole lives,” she said. 

They had known he was sick but were shocked by the news, as he received care “better than some humans,” she said. On the academy’s behind-the-scenes tour, there is a bucket of items Claude has swallowed over the years, like a cellphone and a baby’s shoe. 

“It happens really quickly,” Kalish said of how Claude would go after whatever splashed into the water from above, thinking it was food. A safety net installed around the swamp cut down on these incidents. 

Kalish and another worker drank their coffees, reminiscing and gazing at Claude’s now-empty rock, still being heated by the glow of a red lamp — the color made it easier for his delicate white scales to handle the light. 

There was the first time Claude, who was blind due to his albinism, bravely ventured onto the rock after it was installed, while staffers filled the skybridge to cheer him on. Or the time two snapping turtles “bullied” him into giving up a piece of pumpkin he got for a Halloween treat, and he “sulked” at the bottom of the tank.

Kalish knows she and her coworkers anthropomorphized a creature who communicated through chirping sounds but generally revealed little about what he was thinking or feeling. But that’s beside the point. 

“He was an animal who brought the humans together,” she said.