When most people think of rat infestations, their minds jump to the bustling streets of New York City—home to the infamous "pizza rat" and an endless supply of viral rodent tales. But in a twist that few saw coming, the latest headline-grabbing rat problem is unfolding far from the Big Apple, in the rapidly growing communities of Ada County, Idaho. Eagle and Boise, two cities once thought immune to big-city pests, are now at the center of a rodent crisis that has both residents and officials scrambling for solutions.
According to NPR, the situation came to a head on December 7, 2025, when reports surfaced of residents in Eagle catching anywhere from 20 to 30 rats at their homes. Adam Schroeder, director of the Ada County Weed, Pest and Mosquito Abatement, didn’t mince words: "Rat apocalypse. It's a dramatic term, but I would just say that folks are very concerned." For a region where rats were previously so rare that local pest control laws didn’t even mention them, the sudden surge is nothing short of alarming.
So how did Ada County, better known for its scenic landscapes and wildlife, become the latest battleground in the war against rats? Schroeder pointed to two likely culprits: the area’s breakneck growth and the rise of container shipping. As more people move in and goods flow through the region, it seems the rats have found fertile ground to thrive. "We're not equipped to deal with rat infestations," Schroeder admitted, highlighting how the county’s pest control infrastructure was built to tackle marmots and yellow-bellied gophers, not the cunning, city-savvy rodents now invading local neighborhoods.
The infestation isn’t limited to just one type of rat, either. Residents are contending with both the Norway rat—famous for its resemblance to New York’s pizza-carrying rodent celebrity—and the more acrobatic roof rat, which has earned a reputation for its daredevil antics. As Boise City Council President Colin Nash quipped at a recent council meeting, "I am concerned if we're distinguishing between normal rats or rats that practice ninjutsu." His comment, half in jest, underscores the bewilderment many locals feel as they confront a problem that, until recently, seemed more at home in the subways of Manhattan than the quiet streets of Idaho.
For some, the rat invasion has sparked a kind of reluctant activism. Jane Rohling, a retired naturalist with an impressive 45-year career in wildlife education, has become something of a local celebrity herself. "Well, I just gave myself the title of rat lady," Rohling told NPR. Initially skeptical—"Rats? We don't have any rats around here"—she quickly shifted gears as reports of infestations began popping up on neighborhood forums like Nextdoor. Now, she’s on a mission to educate her neighbors about the do’s and don’ts of rat prevention, drawing on her deep knowledge of local ecosystems.
Rohling’s expertise has proved invaluable as residents grapple with the ecological fallout of the infestation. She’s quick to point out that rats can do real harm to native wildlife, disrupting the delicate balance that’s essential for a healthy environment. "Rats can really harm the animals that are supposed to be there," she explained, adding that while extermination is sometimes necessary, it’s not a silver bullet. "We're never going to eradicate all of them, just like no other city is." Her pragmatic outlook resonates with many, especially as it becomes clear that the rats are here to stay.
So what’s a community to do when faced with an invasion of clever, adaptable rodents? Some locals have suggested turning to nature for help—an influx of hawks, perhaps, or even an "army of cats." But Rohling has a different idea: birth control. "There's birth control for rats that I'm going to be promoting now," she said, referencing emerging strategies that aim to curb rat populations without resorting solely to traps and poisons. It’s an approach that’s gaining traction in urban centers across the country, and Eagle may soon become a test case for its effectiveness in a more rural setting.
The scale of the problem has forced Ada County to confront some uncomfortable truths about its changing identity. As the population swells and commerce booms, the region is experiencing growing pains that go beyond traffic jams and rising housing costs. The arrival of big-city pests like rats is a stark reminder that urbanization comes with unintended consequences, and there are no easy fixes. "It feels like a 1980s New York City issue," Nash observed, capturing the sense of disbelief that many longtime residents share.
Yet, amid the frustration and uncertainty, there’s also a sense of resolve. Local officials, pest experts, and ordinary citizens are banding together to tackle the infestation, sharing tips, resources, and, occasionally, a bit of gallows humor. The story of Eagle’s rat problem has even drawn comparisons to the viral fame of New York’s pizza rat, with some residents joking that their own rodents are ready for the spotlight. "Bigger the city, bigger the rats," NPR’s Ayesha Rascoe remarked, hinting that Ada County may have unwittingly joined the ranks of America’s most rat-plagued locales.
While the situation remains fluid, one thing is clear: Ada County’s rat problem isn’t going away anytime soon. Whether through innovative birth control, natural predators, or good old-fashioned community action, residents will need to adapt to a new reality—one where sharing the neighborhood with a few furry interlopers is just part of life. As Rohling wisely put it, "Residents may need to learn to live with some rats in the neighborhood."
For now, the people of Eagle and Boise are facing their own version of the "rat race," complete with all the challenges, surprises, and moments of ingenuity that come with it. And if history is any guide, they’ll find a way to coexist—maybe not always comfortably, but certainly with a sense of humor and determination that’s as resilient as the rats themselves.
