There's a rat in Hell's Kitchen

There are 8 million people in the city of New York. It has been claimed that there are 8 million rats, too. Seems fair, I suppose. Everyone gets a rat. But the truth may not be so neatly quotable. It is now suggested that we each have 12 rats. I hardly know what to do with mine. Well, not that I could do much with them now seeing as they’re dead, but I’ll get to that shortly. It’s not hard to figure out why rats thrive in our cities. In just one year a female can produce 285 new born rats all nibbling about in no time. Add to this our disposable lifestyles and the amount of waste accumulating on street corners and you see the tail clearly. Also, as individuals we have become so far removed from food preparation and death generally that few of us could stomach the act of whacking a rat with a shovel. One glimpse of the varmints and we shriek and flea…sorry, flee. One can only assume that rats have lost all fear of humans.

But now, in a land where sharp-toothed creatures rule the night and roam the streets, two men will stand tall against the terror with strong hearts, true grit…and a spade.

Yesterday we found rats nesting under a tarpaulin on our roof. After losing the stare-out, we did what any self-respecting Manhattanites would do – we called the Supers of our building. Along come Willy and Harold, the two characters who have looked after 204 Elizabeth Street for forty years. Harold is old. Willy is considerably older – 80, I think. We asked if they could possibly, in any way, for a fistful of dollars, dispose of the tarps. We failed to mention the tarp’s residents. I’m not proud, but as I understand it, guile is a quality of sorts. Up they went. We sat at our desks…working. Then came a peel of laughter through the skylights; the kind of laughter which rises from the depths of a man’s belly when his lifelong pal does something ignominious like, say, jump out of his skin at the sight of, oh, I don’t know…a rat. We cringed. Then, by the time my wince had evolved into the smile of an evil genius, Willy and Harold burst into the office laughing like naughty children. Willy was lampooning Harold’s squeamish assaults and Harold was haranguing Willy’s pitiful tally. Nevertheless, between them they had nailed 9 rodents! 9 flat, splatted rats. I have the photo evidence to prove it. No mean feat given our inherent fear of the toothy, cocksure critters. Indeed, Harold still had that 'I’ve seen Hell’s asshole' look in his blue eyes when he blurted, "I was in Nam but I still can’t handle no damned rats."

Nevertheless, a victory all be it a small one. Humans 1 – Rattus rattus 0.
Now then, only another 95,999,991 to go. Where’s that shovel?