A Fistful of Rats
A story of money, life, and rats
A Fistful of Rats
Too old to carry arms and fight like the others -
they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler
I record - I don’t know for whom - the history of the siege
I am supposed to be exact but I don’t know when the invasion began
two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn
everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time
all we have left is the place the attachment to the place
we still rule over the ruins of temples spectres of gardens and houses
if we lose the ruins nothing will be left
I write as I can in the rhythm of interminable weeks
monday: empty storehouses a rat became the unit of currency
tuesday: the mayor murdered by unknown assailants
wednesday: negotiations for a cease-fire the enemy has imprisoned our messengers
we don’t know where they are held that is the place of torture
thursday: after a stormy meeting a majority of voices rejected
the motion of the spice merchants for unconditional surrender
friday: the beginning of the plague saturday: our invincible defender
N.N. committed suicide sunday: no more water we drove back
an attack at the eastern gate called the Gate of the Alliance
all of this is monotonous I know it can’t move anyone
I avoid any commentary I keep a tight hold on my emotions I write about the facts
only they it seems are appreciated in foreign markets
yet with a certain pride I would like to inform the world
that thanks to the war we have raised a new species of children
our children don’t like fairy tales they play at killing
awake and asleep they dream of soup of bread and bones
just like dogs and cats
Zbigniew Herbert, Report from a Besieged City
New York City
The Henderson rat family were used to living a simple happy lifestyle. That was until the laws in New York City changed.
The Mayor passed the decree of Rat Currency. Rats officially became a newly recognized standard of currency, valued just shy of the American dollar.
The new job labelled, “Rat Catchers” exploded in popularity.
“It’s the modern gold mine,” said Rat Catcher Johny, as he adjusted his holstered double barrel shotgun and goggles strapped to his forehead.
It was full force. During the night, hundreds of individuals would descend into New York’s subways. A variety of techniques were deployed. Simple folk toted guns and baseball bats. Whatever got the job done. A more sophisticated person might utilize toxins, traps, and even gas grenades. Regardless, the end results were strings of dead rats around their belts.
The government paid top dollar for the collection of rats. Dead rats only. A live rat was worthless, but a dead rat was something else.
The initial proposition was mandated as a solution to the world’s rat crisis. An influx that needed to be handled. At first the new law seemed to be working. Rat populations were greatly diminished. The overwhelming spread of disease was disappearing. What a success!
Other cities started to adopt the Rat Law.
However a year passed and the numbers were changing. The greed was settling in. Corporations started to stockpile strings of rat corpses to take control of the market. What originally was supposed to suppress the spread of plague had turned lop-sided with the hoarding of mass piles of dead rats. Disease was rampant.
And then there was the smuggling of Russian White Rats. Statically these rats gave birth to an oddly high number of babies. Rat farms started to appear, creating money from nothing. The Russian White Rat, while equally valued to a normal rat on the official markets, was worth at least a thousand rats among the underground traders.
The world was on the brink of collapse.
Regardless, this is not a story about world economics. Instead, this is about the Henderson Rat family.
The Henderson’s were New York City Rats. Born in the dark underground sewers, they made a simple living of scavenging garbage during the night and living underground peacefully through the day.
But the Rat Law changed everything.
Nowhere was safe. The sewers were constantly being stalked by Rat Catchers, their shotguns aimed at every moving shadow. And the streets above were even worse. No trash bin was safe. You never knew if there was someone waiting with a trap among the garbage.
Safe food was scarce for the rats. Only the strong survived, and even they were being taken out.
To make matters worse, the Henderson’s daughter, Katie, was a white rat and was beginning to feel ill.
Rat gossip said that there was a sewer tunnel that went deeper than any human could reach. A rat haven at the bottom of New York City. But Herbert, the head of the Henderson Rat family, claimed that those were only stories and false hope. What was more believable, was that the real haven was North.
All the way up North to Canada, a country that had not adopted the Rat Currency. A place safe from Rat Catchers. A home for rats. But that’s a long journey for a rat.
It was September. They had to find a home in Canada before the winter.
Jane Henderson, the mother of the family insisted that they had to wait until spring to make the journey, especially considering the poor health of the little one, Katie. But Herbert didn’t think that they could survive the violent streets of New York until then. “It was now, or never,” he said.
The Henderson Rat family collected their personal belongs and said goodbye to the Rat Colony of New York.
The journey out was simple. Sewers and routes were known, they were still in familiar territory. They understood the lingo and the tricks of the city.
A week later they had escaped the city without incident. But this was just the beginning.
The safety of the sewers ended. They didn’t know how to navigate the underworld in these parts of the world. Was there any underground out in these country areas at all? They had to go topside.
They walked along the ditches of long roads, while following the North Star. They scavenged trash and dead road kill for their meals.
Animals paid them little attention. Except for owls. Those damn owls would circle the sky like death drones. The Henderson’s always feared the owls.
Katie’s health was deteriorating. She was simply too young to make such a long journey. The family had no choice but to take shelter in a farm in God knows where.
The nights were getting colder.
The farm seemed safe at first, but they soon discovered that several dogs and cats resided in the area. It was not safe. They had to keep moving. Katie had no choice. It was a tough world.
Walking and walking.
The Hendersons met other rats. They were not used to country folk. They were different; so much smaller, and could barely understand their accent.
“What’s New York City like?” one of the country rats asked.
“It used to be magnificent ,” replied Katie with sorrow. The room was silent after the remark.
The rat shared some bread crumbs. It reminded Katie of the bakery on 167 and 74th Street.
Katie gained a little strength and they continued their journey.
The Border
Was this it? It sure seemed like it. Miles of cars lined up behind each other at a checkpoint. Katie was still weak.
The rats scavenged fresh fruit from the trash bins at the checkpoint as they passed the line on the map.
Welcome to Canada.
Toronto
The Hendersons travelled to Toronto City. Herbert once heard that his rat lineage came from here, though he didn’t find any traces of it now. But it was fine. The city felt safe, the sewers and subways were free from Catchers, and the dumpsters and trash bins weren’t being stalked by hunters.
“This was the right decision,” said Jane Henderson.
And so winter came and went, and flowers started to bloom.
Katie regained her health, and although smaller than the rest, became stronger.
Life was good.
For a little while at least.
One month into the summer and a new law was passed in Canada. Canada, with it’s recent economical debt was forced to adopt the Rat Currency. Remember the days when Rat Currency was used to deter disease, now it was a necessity for global economics.
Canada was ripe for the taking by Rat Catchers. By now the big cities like New York and London were being controlled by the corporations and gangs that oversaw the hunting and farming of rats. Individuals had to pay a rat fee to hunt in certain territories or not hunt at all.
But Canada didn’t have any rat regulations. It was free for the taking. Rat Catchers around the world were travelling to Canada for the opportunity of catching fresh rats.
The rats in Canada were unprepared. They didn’t know what was coming. Sure they heard rumors of rats being hunted, but the Hendersons knew these rats didn’t truly understand the pain that was coming.
The Hendersons called a meeting among the rat populace in Toronto.
They shared their experience with being hunted and taught strategies and training to survive the upcoming hunt.
A week passed of preparation and stockpiling.
The rats had prepared to combat advanced catching techniques. They were ready against Rat Catchers with dart guns, automatic weapons, poisons, gasses, spring loaded cheese traps, leaked informants, flooding, and even trained cats. They felt as ready.
The sky was a dark moonless night when the Rat Catchers arrived.
Even with all their preparation, they did not foresee the capabilities of the modern Rat Catcher. For at this point, the Rat Catchers had perfected the art of extermination. Gone were the old days of physically going into sewers and shooting a rat. Now the Catchers utilized robotic drones that dug into the ground and with infrared scanning, were able to shoot a lethal pellet with pinpoint accuracy, and then collect the rat body. All this happened while a Rat Cather would be nice and clean on the surface, sipping their tea.
The Canadian rats didn’t stand a chance.
The Hendersons managed to escape the city. Another home abandoned. They didn’t look back as they scurried away. With no options, they continued north.
The air got colder.
A week passed until the Hendersons encountered Northern Rats.
“Is there anywhere safe in this world?” asked the Hendersons.
“Of course, here is safe,” replied the Northerner.
“But there is nothing here.”
The Northerner shook their head, “There is so much here.”
“But where is the city, and the garbage bins, and warm subways?”
“If you’re always seeking cities, then you are also seeking trouble. You cannot have both safety and urban life.”
“But life out in the wild is far too dangerous and hard. There’s not enough food to find, no warm shelter, and the dangerous owls are everywhere.”
“It’s not so bad. You learn to adapt.”
“I don’t think we could do it. My daughter Katie is too weak to live in the wilderness.”
There was a pause until the Northerner replied, “Well there are no cities that you seek beyond here. You will have to return to the dangers that you’ve said you narrowly escaped.”
Back to New York City
The city was different. The streets were littered with garbage everywhere. Bodies lied in alcoves as debris flew through the air.
“What happened?,” wondered the Hendersons, “This place is heaven.” “Food everywhere!”
The Hendersons descended into the welcomed familiarity of the subway and sewers, and were surprised to find them deserted of human hunters. A perfect shelter for the rats.
But that was the thing. They didn’t see any other rats. Their old neighbourhoods were completely abandoned . Regardless, the Hendersons moved back into their old home and began living a luxurious easy living lifestyle, with the exception of being a little lonely.
Around a week later, Katie found another rat named Alexander. Katie brought Alexander to her family’s home. The new rat explained the situation:
“After the humans hunted us wild rats to almost extinction in the city. After months of pro-rat-riots from humans, a new law was passed to outlaw the hunting of rats. Even selling rat traps became illegal. So life has been very nice for the few of us who survived. The humans don’t even keep their garbage organized anymore because they think we’re all gone. Now the rich restaurants are the easiest places to get food. They just don’t care about us at all.”
“But the currency of rats has not disappeared. While the value of us rats has drastically dropped, the money that can be made from rats has never been more profitable. Farming rats is still legal. You can find one of the farms south of here. Millions of rats kept in trenches. Disease has run rampant in the surrounding areas. Garbage is sent to the Rat Farms instead of the landfills now.”
The Hendersons thanked Alexander the rat for sharing his knowledge and they promised to keep in touch.
Up at the Top
New York has never been safer for a rat. Well for free rats at least, enslaved farm rats are a different story.
Anyways, Katie found herself exploring parts of the city that she only dreamed of before. Namely the Future State Tower. The piercing stainless steel skyscraping building. It was not a place for rats before, with it’s impenetrable marble and steel walls. No rat holes, only death. The only way rats used to interact with the tower was with its shadow. What about now though?
Katie and the new rat friend, Alexander, both quickly slipped through the revolving doors as a human entered. Through the lobby. Under the tables and chairs. Past the fire escape doorway and up the stairs. Running like this used to be frantic and desperate, but today in this era, it was recreational. Katie was smiling, feeling free with Alexander.
The two rats climbed the stairs for what felt like hours. Each step was becoming a test of strength, but Katie was determined to show off.
Up, up, up, up, up,…
The path ended. This was it. The top of the tower. There was a small gap at the stairway door, that the rats slipped through.
Empty office space with a wall of windows looking out to the setting sun, glowing with its last bit of warmth as the city transformed into the night.
Katie and Alexander walked up to the glass. All those humans looked like little rats from up here. Scurrying around, looking for food or whatever. Some were eating, and some were resting.
Katie thought about the rat farms. Her species, her friends, old neighbours, every rat she knew before was probably in one of those farms. It was terrible. But what could she do? She was just one rat. The only thing to do was avoid the farms and enjoy her life with her rat family. And Alexander.
Katie looked at Alexander. His little rat eyes were looking intently at something on the horizon, his frown deep with contemplation.
Katie took a sniff. Something was in the air. Katie took a longer sniff. Over there by the door was an office trash bin. Katie got Alexander’s attention and the two of them went and climbed up the garbage bin and peaked inside. Together, they discovered a half eaten turkey sandwich.
They both jumped into the garbage bin and took a bite.
Thick toasted bread, sweet tomato slices, fresh lettuce, and delicious turkey.
So delicious. Probably the best sandwich Katie had ever tasted. Alexander agreed.
Meanwhile, a hundred miles from the city, rats are fed nothing in the farms for maximum profits. They’re starved and then frozen to be later used as currency. But this information doesn’t affect Katie. Right now, life is alright, and isn’t that all that matters?
The sun disappeared behind the horizon. Humans took shelter in their concrete houses, closing their eyes in their cotton beds.
And out in the streets, the few free rats creeped out.
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