Kitty cat, Kitty cat—run, run, run.

Micah had a thing for women like yourself; cats and kitties, is what he called them—feisty little things that can't help being playful at times, then turn sour on you randomly like the bipolar animals they are.

And you were in for a treat—his new victim.

Now, you hated catcalling as much as the next woman; but having this much attention from the cowboy you were told was asocial and just a straight asshole to everyone? It stroked your ego, seriously. Something about how obsessed he was with you made it hard to even get mad at his comments.

"Oh shush, girl. You be scoffing when I compliment 'ya, but I can see that little smirk on yer lips. You're only foolin' yourself; you enjoy this nasty bastards attention."

And well, he isn't wrong. Are some of his comments he calls compliments distasteful?Yes. Are you still horribly attracted to it—to him, more-so specifically—and want to give in sometimes? Also yes.

"'Least there's somethin' worth watching in this camp."

He snickers into the beer bottle he raises to his lips, taking a few look-overs shamelessly.

This whole cat-dog chase, it'll drive you crazy.