Grumpy Cat’s Bath Era

On staying curious, last days of school, and the summer I’m actually looking forward to

I want to introduce you to someone.

This is Grumpy Cat.

She has been my son’s favorite companion for nearly a decade. She has traveled. She has been loved completely, thoroughly, and without reservation. We have had multiple iterations of Grumpy Cat over the years, which tells you everything you need to know about how important she is in this household.

She is currently in her bath era.

Not a little splash. Not a gentle wipe down. A full sink dunking. With total commitment and apparent purpose.

The first time I noticed she was damp I thought, huh, that’s different. Then I started hearing him in the bathroom. The water running. The very specific sounds of a plushie receiving a thorough washing from someone who has strong opinions about her hygiene.

I have said, out loud, on multiple occasions: Grumpy Cat does not need a bath.

He repeats it back to me.

And then disagrees.

She now lives primarily in the bathtub between visits because she is, more often than not, too wet to hang out in his room. She sits there looking exactly like you would expect a waterlogged grumpy cat plushie to look. Damp. Resigned. Mildly inconvenienced by the whole situation.

Honestly? I relate to her deeply.

But here’s the thing I keep coming back to.

I have no idea why this is happening.

And I’ve made peace with that.

Not in a giving up way. Not in an I’ve stopped paying attention way. In a this is his world and he’s inviting me into it way. Because that’s what staying curious actually looks like after years of caregiving. It’s not always having the answer. It’s staying in the conversation even when the conversation doesn’t fully translate.

I’ve spent a lot of years trying to figure out the why behind the things my son does. Sometimes I find it. A sensory piece clicks into place, or a pattern emerges, or he finds a way to show me what he couldn’t tell me. And those moments are genuinely wonderful.

But sometimes I just never know.

And somewhere along the way I had to decide what to do with that. Whether the not knowing was going to feel like failure or whether it was going to feel like an invitation to keep paying attention.

I chose the invitation.

Because here’s what I do know. He is interacting with me. He is sharing his world in the ways he can share it. He comes to find me. He shows me things. He has apparently decided that Grumpy Cat’s cleanliness is a matter worth discussing regularly and he keeps bringing it back to me.

That is connection.

It might be soggy, slightly confusing connection. But it counts.

Thursday was his last day of school.

And I want to sit with that for a moment because a few years ago, that sentence would have landed very differently in my body. Last day of school used to mean the beginning of a long mental calculation. How do I keep him busy? How do I maintain his skills? How do I structure enough of the day that we both survive until September without losing our minds?

Summer used to feel like something to brace for.

This year it doesn’t.

I’ve done the work. Slowly, incrementally, over several summers of figuring out what we actually need. I’ve built in better structure. I’ve worked with him on self regulation in ways that have genuinely paid off. I’ve given myself permission to leave space in the schedule instead of filling every hour out of anxiety.

I’m less worried about keeping his skills sharp because I’ve built in the things that support him during the downtime. I’m less worried about keeping him busy because I’ve learned that rest is also a thing we both need and deserve.

And the question has shifted from how am I going to get through this summer to what are we going to do together this summer.

That is not a small shift. That is years of work showing up as a feeling.

I’m proud of both of us.

Him, for the growth I get to watch happen even when I don’t fully understand all the ways it shows up. For the connection he keeps offering me in the languages he has available. For somehow deciding that Grumpy Cat needed a whole new hygiene routine and committing to it fully.

And me, for staying curious instead of just confused. For building the things we needed before we needed them. For getting to a place where the last day of school feels like the beginning of something good instead of something to survive.

Summer 2026 is going to have some adventures in it.

Grumpy Cat will probably need several more baths.

I’ll keep telling him she doesn’t need one.

He’ll repeat it back to me and disagree.

And honestly, I cannot wait.

What’s something your person does that you’ve stopped trying to solve and just decided to stay curious about? I’d love to hear it in the comments.