Rat City

What is going on in Melbourne?

I live in Docklands right now which is a "reclaimed" area.  Ten years ago it was old docks.  Developers came in, built a bunch of high rises, put in lots of parks, added some art structures, lot of restaurants and bam, you've got a new Inner City Suburb, just minutes from one of the largest train stations in Melbourne and adjacent to the CBD.  Big banks moved in, ANZ, National Australia Bank and the TV networks.  In the early morning you have droves of young professionals steadfastly plodding in to work with their headphones on and grim expressions set on their faces.  They have mastered the technique of Phingering Their IPhones in motion as they march fourth relentlessly in a preordained pattern. I can't say I've seen any that look particularly happy, but then, when I worked a 7:45 - 5 job I didn't look that happy either.  These are the people that have little swipe cards hanging around their necks to get into their building, and stuff their transit pass in there too to streamline their days.  They wear suits, they wear pantyhose, they have Ipods and headphones, and worn down work shoes from trudging back and forth to the station.  And then the lady with the strange shaped cellulite in the stretch pants that are not made of a durable enough fabric.  Ladies with cellulite, just don't wear stretch pants.  I digress.

Then you have the bike gangs.  Not the Hells Angels, the Spandex Surlies that could well be from a Portlandia episode for their sense of civic entitlement to their Bike Lane.  The Transit Food Chain is such - Bikes give way to cars, Pedestrians give way to Bikes or get Aggressively Run the Fuck Over Whether You Are In A Pedestrian Crossing Or Not Because I'm On A Bike And I'm Coming Through With My Headlamp Flashing Because It's My Moment Of Entitlement and Athletic Freedom and Superiority On My Way To My Cubicle Cage.  Bike Rats.

These are the Day Rats.  But before the Day Rats, the Night Rats ruled the roost, and you know what? They're still there.  Docks and Rats go hand in hand.  Always have, always will, apparently.  I take Ruby walking at night in the gentrified artificial park with the art wind sculptures.  She goes bounding off into the bushes, and at first I thought she was just hankering back to her days of living in the wild, chasing bears through forests.  I thought, awww, cute, she hasn't changed.  Then I heard a squeal and saw her doing the familiar gopher skinning head shake and screamed out "Ruby, NO!"  Ruby, meet Ratty.  The night resident of Docklands.  And Ratty comes from a massive family.  Each night now I notice entire bushes shaking from Ratty gatherings, and hear them squeaking away going about their business.  You see, all the Day Rats leave their lunch garbage in the artificial parks neatly in the bins, the Homeless Rats come and cook their dinners on the community bbqs, and then the Night Rats come out and clean up on the pickins...

So, the little "Organic Garden" people that have a few eggplants and herbs planted in some planter boxes over by Artificial Oval "A" have caused an uproar and written in to the local Rat Rag to complain about the Rat Race peeing non-Organic rat pee in their little Organic veggie beds.  They want the Rat Problem Resolved.  So the Council tells their maintenance company that are supposed to clean the bbqs and empty the garbage that they want something Done About The Rats.  They want them baited.  Maintenance Company Lady says "What About the Dogs?" to which the reply is "It's a dog on leash park, so that won't be a problem."  Maintenance Lady says Oh NO, you can't go laying bait in the bushes, not tell people, and then turn around and say, Dog On Leash park when peoples pooches start keeling over.  So they put the bait in bait boxes, the ratties eat the bait, and start showing up with their guts exploding out of the sides of their bodies - hey, not a problem, Dog On Leash park right?

Mum's little chihuahua has now been sick for three days.  Throwing up, shaking, panting, diarrhoea.  Ruby's fine, she's a big dog and only eats home cooking, but these little purebreds...

The Homeless Rats are a separate issue entirely.  So Three Drunk Rats live in the kiddie playground on top of the play structure.  No, I'm not exaggerating, they live there.  They have all their stuff in cardboard boxes.  It's the most incongruous thing you have ever seen.  Drunk dude propped up in his pile of blankets stretching at 4:30 in the afternoon while little kids are playing in the sand and on the swings at their feet.  I may not be down with the police in the US storming the natural food store, guns drawn, to claim the raw milk off the shelf, but I'd sure as hell like to send them in to the Docklands Rat Park.  I was almost relieved last week because I saw a couple of cop cars at the park and figured, Good, they're clearing out the Homeless Rats.  Actually, Rat 1 and Rat 2 were fighting over a "Goon Bag" (wine bladder) and Rat 1 beat the shit out of Rat 2 and he is still in hospital with head injuries.  I had at least hoped Rat 1 was now in jail and we were reduced to just the residence of Rat 3, but no, Rat 1 is back, and he's King of The Hill.  In Australia, apparently, he has a Right to be there, just as much as the kiddies, and so he ain't goin Nowhere.

Welcome to RatLands.