On nights when I need to be in bed early and Sam hasn't yet come home from work, Morty gets to be the man of the house. He takes his position very seriously. He recognizes that I've gone to bed, which puts me in a vulnerable position to any intruder, and tends to follow the same routine whenever this happens.
First he establishes his place as a ferocious killer of the night. He usually does this by attacking anything that moves on the bed, which is just my feet moving around under the comforter. After five minutes of showing his pouncing skills on my toes, he sits on the edge of the bed and stares down the hallway, daring anyone to come close. He then perches himself on the dresser, the highest point of the room with a perfect view of the hallway, where he continues to glare at invisible intruders, whipping his tail around angrily. Finally, convinced there is no one else in the house, he lays down by my feet and starts taking a bath. Whenever he hears any noise, his ears perk up and he listens for any sound of danger. He stays in this position until he finally hears a key in the door, at which point he bolts to the front of the house to make sure it's only Sam. Relieved of his duties, he usually goes to have a midnight snack and then plays with Willow.
No, he's not a dog, but he's quite the watch kitty. I'm sure in his mind he's convinced he's a menacing tiger. His meow, to him, sounds like the deafening roar of a lion. Sometimes when I'm home alone and scared, I wish he was some type of jungle cat that could inspire fear in the heart of an intruder. But all the same, I'm thankful for my little buddy who keeps me safe until the hubby returns, and I'm pretty sure if anyone ever did try to break in, he'd be all over them, claws out, biting as hard as he could.