New York City belongs to the rats

Before I moved to New York City five and a half years ago, the warnings were never about astronomical rent prices, apocalyptic winters or days-long subway delays. They were about rats.

Former Manhattanites authoritatively spoke of them with the kind of hushed dread usually reserved to conjure biblical plagues. These weren’t mere animals, I was told, but tiny demons in fur coats – miniature Tony Sopranos with tails – who were quick to scuttle from the shadows at the merest whiff of a discarded bagel, bold enough to set up camp in your kitchen and perfectly willing to maul a callow pug or nibble on an unsuspecting baby.

One friend cautioned me to keep the toilet lid shut at all times. He delivered this advice without further explanation, implying that the mere possibility of undignified rat horror would be enough to cow me into lifelong vigilance.

But what no one warned me about five-and-a-half years ago was the city’s epic inability to rein in these rodent terrorists; the government’s pitiful failure to mount anything resembling a serious defense against these whiskered warlords who – from Brooklyn to the Bronx – have credibly claimed their crown.

For a short time in 2023, it looked like Mayor Eric Adams might finally have found a fight he was willing to take up seriously – and potentially even win. In April of that year, Adams anointed Kathleen Corradi the city’s first ever “Rat Czar,” proudly declaring that she had “the knowledge, drive, experience and energy to send rats packing.”

I’m amazed by the cult status rats have been able to assume. Rats grace T‑shirts, mugs and caps

He started by giving her $3.5 million to clean up a particularly ratty neighborhood in Harlem. That’s fine, until you remember that $3.5 million won’t buy you even half a decent apartment in many parts of Manhattan. But sure, it was better than nothing. Then last year the city, under Corradi’s direction, proudly hosted a “National Urban Rat Summit.” What exactly happened at the summit isn’t clear to me. My requests for press accreditation went unanswered. But according to Corradi’s opening remarks, which were later published, it was “two full days of content and collaboration” and “part of a much larger dialogue, a centuries-long conversation between humans, their urban spaces and the rats who have eagerly exploited them both.” If I were a rat hearing that, I would’ve hightailed it to Canada – or, at the very least New Jersey – as fast as my teeny legs could carry me.

To her credit, Corradi did take some other initiatives. She campaigned hard for waste management reforms. She ushered in a pilot scheme to deploy rat contraceptives, potentially giving New York rats better access to birth control than some women across America. And sure, there were even some tentative signs of progress. Early this year, calls to the government’s designated phone line for reporting community problems, including rat-related ones, had reportedly fallen by a not-insignificant 24 percent compared with the same period a year ago. Sep-a-rately, a recent report from the mayor’s office noted that responses to rodent complaints were getting swifter.

But all of this, as it turns out, wasn’t enough. In September, in what can only really be considered a major victory for our four-legged foes, Corradi quit her post, unable to finish the job she’d been so determined to complete. New York’s anti-rat brigade is – at least at the time of writing – leaderless. Public enemy number one, as Corradi once dubbed the rats, is winning. Has there ever been a clearer indication of urban decay? Perhaps not.

While all of this does paint a picture of doom, all might not be lost. As long as I’ve lived here, one of the things that’s never ceased to amaze me is the cult status that rats have been able to assume. Rats grace T‑shirts, mugs and caps in souvenir stores. Street vendors flog rat fridge magnets. Even I couldn’t resist buying a grinning, pizza-scoffing rat Christmas tree trinket for $15 at Union Square Market last year. It was pricier than a decent slice of pizza. But, mercifully, it was fair trade. I have standards.

Hated by locals, rats now seem to rival Carrie Bradshaw’s townhouse and the Ghostbusters fire station as tourist attractions. And yes, for the modest sum of $45, you too can take part in a late-night rat tour hosted by a man named Kenny Bollwerk, who created a viral “RatTok” social media page. He answers to “Rat Daddy.”

So sure, the Rat Czar is out. Her boss is also scurrying off the stage: Adams recently dropped out of the mayoral race. But for the city’s true citizens – and much to the delight of our eager, revenue-generating visitors – incumbency is guaranteed. Cover your toilets, lock your doors and leash your dogs. Long live Rat Town – the only party still running this wretched city that never sweeps.

This article was originally published in The Spectator’s October 27, 2025 World edition.