Willow the possessed cat

When I named Willow, it was with the thought that this sweet little kitty needed a graceful, peaceful name to label her.  But, now, with hundreds of hurled hairballs and the time she looked right at me as she peed in one of my shoes, cementing our relationship, I feel that surely she must be (it would explain a lot) POSSESSED.  Why else would she always heave her gifts on my (ill advised) light plush carpet?  Why, of all things to knock off the telephone table, was it my lamp (which of course was my favorite thing on that table), today? 
I have tried to be a good "owner".  The last time I tried to load her into her carrier for a trip to the groomer, all legs projected stiffly out to the sides of her body as she physically made herself too large for the opening.  If I hadn't been so irritated that she was being difficult, the laughter would have started much sooner.  When I finally realized that there was no earthly way to wedge her splayed body into the carrier, she decided to push it up a notch by knocking the metal door off the carrier.  That, and the yowling was enough to make any sane person a) swear, b) cry, or (in my case) laugh, giggle and otherwise be so amused by the situation that I then made the foolish move of loosening my grip on her.  That was all she needed, as she rocketed away to some dark hiding place where she could  hack up another hairball as she decided what my punishment would be (a hint:  my bedroom door now is SHUT at night).  But, sigh, that is yet another story.