There once was a woman named Yana Van Cat,
Whom, the legends all say, slept in any habitat.
She could sleep in the grass,
Or on two panes of glass.
She could sleep on scrap metal,
Or aloft on one rosy petal.
A wandering witch with a sleeping disorder called insomnia
Found Yana asleep on the border of Serbia and Bosnia.
Envious of Yana Van Cat's powerful feline aesthetic,
The witch cast a curse of a nature prophetic:
"If I don't get some sleep within the fortnight,
This sweet sleeping girl will be bit by a mite!
A seven-year itch, which the doctor's call scabies,
Will fall on her skin and the skin of her babies!"
When Yana awoke from her nap on barbed wire,
Though she'd slept deep and dreamless, she felt something was dire.
Hoping for the best, not being a cynic,
She picked herself up and biked to her job at the clinic.
The first patient that day was a wizened old crone,
With long hair of silver and a hat like a cone.
"Doctor, please help me, my state is a mess,
I can't sleep a wink." Said Yana, "It's psychosomatic, I'd guess!"
Your thyroid is normal, hematocrit's in good humor,
Your tox screen is clear, and there's no sign of a tumor.
Post-menopausal women, she said in sweet tones,
Often have their sleep disturbed by changing hormones.
Coupled with high cortisol from job stress,
It's no wonder, my dearie, your sleep schedule's a mess!
HRT is one option, to help with hot-flashes,
Paired with fluoxetine, we'll reduce your anxiety to ashes.
But in addition to drugs, which may not help for weeks,
We should start psychotherapy; I know all the techniques.
Suddenly the witch transformed into a cat!
With the same silver hair and the same floppy black hat!
She jumped from her chair to rest on Yana's thighs,
She kneaded her paws and closed her yellow eyes.
Seeing how Yana had wanted to help her,
Finally, the witch fell asleep and started to, as well, purr.
Some say the two are still asleep in that chair,
But all the legends say this: they could sleep anywhere.
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