Paris Deputy Mayor Champions Rat Coexistence While City Debates Urban Rodent Control

The rat 'Plume' perches on Gregory Moreau's shoulder, the deputy mayor of Paris's 11th district.

France:

With its black button eyes and delicate whiskers that quiver inquisitively, Plume isn't your typical rat. This rodent enjoys the extraordinary privilege of exploring Paris from its owner's shoulder—a local politician with an unusual mission.

Gregory Moreau, deputy mayor of a Paris district, has taken on the challenge of changing Parisians' perception of the city's rat population, which reportedly exceeds the inner city's two million human inhabitants by a significant margin.

"Hello, have you ever seen a rat?" Moreau inquired to a surprised shopper carrying bags at a vibrant market in Belleville, an energetic eastern Paris neighborhood. "Look what I'm carrying on my shoulder."

After an initial skeptical glance, the woman smiled and asked, "Is that Ratatouille?"—referencing Disney's beloved animated film about a culinary-talented rat.

Rats have been woven into Paris folklore for centuries, typically cast in an unfavorable light.

"Rats have a bad image because they spread the plague in the 14th century," explained Moreau, a qualified physics theorist and member of the PA animal rights party.

However, he argues that in modern times, rats play a minimal role in disease transmission, with perhaps only leptospirosis—a bacterial infection primarily occurring in rural areas—being a concern.

Moreau tirelessly advocates for rats, distributing leaflets featuring endearing rat images against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and educating passersby about the rodents' ecological benefits.

'Fantasy world'

"They consume approximately 100 tons of waste in Paris daily," he stated, highlighting their role in preventing sewer blockages.

When confronted about excessive rat sightings in children's play areas and parks, Moreau acknowledges the necessity for population management.

Nevertheless, he advocates for humane alternatives to traditional rat poison, which he describes as both inhumane and ineffective, as rodents develop immunity and learn to avoid such baits.

Moreau suggests a more practical approach: reducing food waste on streets, particularly around fast-food establishments.

"If the rats don't find food they don't multiply as much," he explained.

Unsurprisingly, Moreau's rat-friendly stance has met opposition, most notably from Geoffroy Boulard, district mayor in an upscale western Paris neighborhood.

Boulard earned his reputation as the city's foremost rat opponent after "Le Parisien" published an image of him holding four dead rats by their tails.

His anti-rat credentials even secured him an invitation to New York's inaugural National Urban Rat Summit last year.

"Anyone claiming that we should co-exist with rats lives in a fantasy world," Boulard declared.

He insists that any reduction in control efforts would "threaten public health." Boulard has installed €800 ($940) traps in his district that lure rats with food before activating an app-controlled killing mechanism.

These devices eliminate approximately 800 rats annually—a minute fraction of the overall population.

However, Boulard maintains that decreased rat sighting reports on a dedicated website indicate his approach is effective.