Sixty-Minute Twist

I spotted a heavy stainless-steel dome sitting between the oregano and the olive oil, marked with numbers from zero to sixty. Protect ya neck, kitchen timer, because meddling season is open. I planted my feet on the counter, locked both paws around the top hemisphere, and torqued it clockwise with all my strength. Rrrrr-clack! The internal spring coiled tight. The second I let go, a furious vibration buzzed through the metal: tick-tick-tick-tick! I pressed my snout against the cold chrome curve, feeling the rhythm shudder into my jaw, and matched the tempo with a rapid woodpecker rattle. Then—DING! A brilliant chime rang across the kitchen, sending my ears flapping in pure victory.