The Guardian Sleeps

Out of all of the many exquisitely bad days I've had over the last several months, Thursdays serve as the best and worst.
Therapy day, or as we've been calling it for over a decade "Let it Go Day" is the day to let it all out and feel your worst, but often leave with hope springing eternal.
My favorite part of therapy is talking to my (human) best friend both before and after on the 40 min trek across town.
Today, on the way home that call was made in tears, just those rolling, silent, giant drops like big summer rain storms that seem to start slowly, rolling on to the dusty ground. In this case, cheek to chin to chest.
When I got home, this guy, Denny Crane was waiting at the door. He must not have liked how long it took me to get the door open, he whimpered a little cry if his own. Well, that served to start the waterworks on me again, and then seeing this he put his little paws on my knees and yelped.
I proceeded to call Donna back (we always get cut off in the underground garage and the elevator up) and she and I talked for about 2 hours. I was laying on the sofa and Denny was on the love seat, just doing what he seems to always be doing: watching me.
Then I heard snoring. It sounded like human, loud, comfortable snoring. An old man on the sun porch snoring.
The guardian of my tears, finally tired of the girl talk, and slept.