When he woke her it was late. The only light was the far off twinkling of the New York skyline, screened by the climbing greenery and the short parapets. The weather had grown cold, and while his fur was still soft and the curve of his body around hers a decent furnace, the wind had begun to pick up, and it swept in from the east, creeping over the roof and down through the balcony garden. He nudged her again with a paw to get her going and effectively herded her back toward the glass doors without actual conversation except a soft feline chuckle once they were nearly in.
He stopped abruptly just inside the doors as clock hands all over the city reached straight upward to cling to the midnight hour just before the next day began. He made a strange, confused sound as an ice hand seemed to grip his heart in his chest, then he fell so hard that the light fixtures shook. He writhed when the changes began, but it made no difference. One could only wait for it to end.