Ode to a cat

I ask myself oh why, oh why
Does the cat so like to lie
On my stomach, legs and chest
And on my face which she likes best?
And why is it I find her hair
here and there and everywhere?
They're on my clothes, sheets and couch
and, whoops, just found one in my mouth.
I yelled at her and shook my head,
when she she used for scratching post my bed.
And I never felt such stress
As when she attacked my bridesmaid dress.
But when I think I've had enough
and cat-sitting became far too rough
The cockles of my heart she stirs
When she cuddles and when she purrs.
She killed a spider on the floor
And waits when I come in the door.
So it seems I've decided that
I kind of like the stupid cat.