NYC: Where Did All the Rats Go?

Pizza Rat is out of work—Here’s why you’re seeing fewer rodents in NYC

You don’t need a MetroCard to know New York’s had a rat problem. It's the city’s unofficial mascot—furry, fearless, flipping you the middle finger while dragging a slice of pizza down a subway stairwell. They were always there, part of the backdrop. A little bit gross, a little bit punk rock, completely New York.

But lately? It’s quiet out there. Too quiet.

The numbers don’t lie: rat sightings are down. Significantly. Like “cut to black in a mob movie” down. In 12 out of the last 13 months, the city’s rat hotline (yes, that’s a thing—311) has logged fewer rat complaints than usual. In Hamilton Heights alone, sightings have dropped a jaw-dropping 55%. That’s not a dip. That’s a vanishing act.

So... where the hell did all the rats go?

A City Once Ruled by Rats

To be clear: this city has always been crawling. As of last year, the rat population in NYC was estimated around 3 million—that’s one rat for every three people. You may not have seen them, but they saw you. Living in walls. Riding the subways. Waiting for the late-night trash pile like it was table 7 at Carbone.

Now? Ghost town.

NYC’s first Michelin-starred trash orgy. No reservations. No shame.

The Trash Revolution: Death by Container

Mayor Eric Adams kicked off what he calls the “Trash Revolution”—a term that sounds like a Bushwick pop-up shop, but it’s actually working.

For decades, NYC handled trash the old-school way: just dump it on the sidewalk and hope the rats didn’t throw a block party. But now, black bags are out. Giant sealed “Empire Bins” are in. In West Harlem, these bins roll out like tanks. They get picked up by robotic arms on futuristic garbage trucks.

And timing matters too. No more putting trash out at 4 PM. Now it’s 8 PM, and only if it's inside a container. That’s four fewer hours of buffet access. For rats, that’s famine.

The result? Cleaner sidewalks, fewer complaints, and a whole lot of confused rodents looking for dinner.

Rat Birth Control: This Is Not a Drill

And because New York can never just do things halfway, we’re not just starving rats—we’re making sure they can’t reproduce.

In 2024, the city passed “Flaco’s Law,” allowing the use of rat birth control in containerized zones. You read that right. It’s a non-lethal fertility treatment designed to crash the rat population without touching a trap.

So yes, the rats are hungry. And now? They're also sterile.

Welcome to Gotham.

Is it just me, or does this photo scream ‘Marvel movie’—and not the part where things go well for the city?

The Rise of the Rat Czar

Of course, you can’t fight a war without a general. Enter Kathleen Corradi, the city’s first-ever Rat Czar. Her job is to unify city departments, organize neighborhood inspections, and lead "Rat Walks"—which are exactly what they sound like: officials and locals pounding the pavement together, looking for nests, droppings, and trash violations.

She’s part exterminator, part community organizer, part urban legend.

And under her watch, the numbers are finally falling.

There might be fewer rats underground, but those aren’t the most dangerous ones.

So Where Did They Go?

Here’s the truth: the rats haven’t disappeared. Not really.
They’ve just gone underground—literally and figuratively.

They’re holed up in the tunnels, the sewers, the rotting guts of the city—the places untouched by the so-called sanitation “revolution.” They’ve retreated to neighborhoods still tossing trash bags on the sidewalk like it’s 1979. Places like Jamaica Hills in Queens, where rat sightings jumped over 100%.

That’s not defeat. That’s a rebrand.

Because rats, like influencers, don’t disappear—they migrate.
They follow the trash the way clout-chasers follow trends: mindlessly, relentlessly, and always with a ring light of delusion. Where there’s waste, there’s opportunity. Where there’s a rotting bag of takeout, there’s a line of vermin waiting for their close-up.

Some are gnawing through “rat-proof” bins just to prove a point. Others are lying low, watching us post victories while they plot sequels.

You can feel it in the silence—that eerie void where chaos used to live. It’s not over. It’s intermission.

Because in New York, nothing ever really goes away.
It just goes underground, waits for the next garbage wave, and pops up hungrier than before—fame-thirsty, grease-covered, and ready for another bite.