Natasha’s her name And she’s finding some fame, She’s feral and wooly, A measure from tame. They believe that she’s five, And was barely alive When they found her alone To fend and survive. Living with dogs She was wearing no togs; She was filthy and starved In a shack made of logs. No inches she grew From the time she was two, Her nourishment sparse, Her parents no clue. A condition quite rare, Russian doctors now care For Natasha’s afflicted - With Mowgli compared. She barks at the doors, Crawls around on all fours She snarls at keepers And scratches the floors. She’s harmed to the core, It’ll be quite a chore - From snarls to smiles Toward human rapport.