Time had only to tick its seconds, minutes, maybe more–before I realized that there so much of those minutes and seconds behind me. I saw this time passing especially for my cat, Pepper. Cat’s age much faster than people. Pepper went almost suddenly from a kitten risking high jumps and romps from the kitchen sink to sudden long pauses and considerations before taking a safes step down from a shoe box to a Persian rug a few inches below her.

Poor thing, my friends said of Pepper.

Oh shut the fuck up, I want tell them. I want to tell them: your pauses and considerations are going to be much worse. Hell, they already are. We’re in our fifties now and we waste precious minutes deciding which yogurt is best. And things like which one of us will get Alzheimer’s? Which one of us will divorce? Which one us will end up with the child who shoots to kill?

But I digress. I’d meant to talk about the very first watch I’ve owned in decades–a birthday gift (A simple Rolex–which I didn’t know they still sold). The watch has hands and I like to stare at the little flick of the long hand. I’m told it’s the same as meditating–like staring at the flick of a flame or even listening to the drip of a faucet. Maybe. But there’s nothing like feeling anger when you look at that hand flicking clockwise.