So Balthazar, the outdoor cat,
Contends with raccoons on the prowl.
They eat his cat food. What’s with that?
How dastardly of them—and foul.
Now, what’s a cat supposed to do?
Hide in his cubby and endure
These bandits and this insult to
His feline-favored sinecure?
His only recourse is to trust
In me to get his cat food right,
To trust that I am good and just,
And shall those raccoon-bandits smite.
    May I so, too, on God rely
    Whenever there is trouble nigh.