"Don't move," said the cat. "Struggling will only make the relish thicker."
The idea of a talkin' kitty wasn't astonishing to me. After all, I'd come to expect anything after discovering that mysterious condiment factory in the woods. Anyways, even if I was astonished there sure as hell wasn't any time for awe. I was up to my neck in minced sweet pickles, and as far as I was concerned, that gray tabby was my only ticket out of a deceivingly delicious death.
"Grab onto this rope, Dirk," said the cat, lowering down what was actually several tattered sheets tied together in thick knots. I climbed with all the strength I could muster. I'm eternally grateful this incident hadn't occurred a year earlier when I still had legs. That would have made the climb to safety nearly impossible.
At the top of the "rope", I grasped the steel grate of the catwalk. I coughed hard, releasing many ounces of relish from my lungs.
"Thanks," I said, gazing with admiration at my feline rescuer. "I'll name you Boots."
"Okay," said the cat.