Court of Petty Appeals: Rat King et al. v. The Commonwealth of Virginia

Rat King et. al.

 v.

The Commonwealth of Virginia

77 U.Va 22 (2025)

Dᴇᴍɪᴛʀʏ, C.J., delivers the opinion of the Court, in which Bᴇʀᴋʟɪᴄʜ, Bᴇᴄᴋᴇʀ, Wᴜ, and Vᴀɴɢᴇʀ, JJ., join.

Aʟʟᴀʀᴅ, C.J. Emeritus, concurs.

Dᴇᴍɪᴛʀʏ, C.J., delivering the opinion of the Court.

Argued: Eternally in the night between the floorboards.

This matter comes before the Court on emergency appeal by His Majesty the Rat King and the Collective of Dewberry Rats (“the Petitioners”), domiciled since time immemorial (or at least since 2009) in the historic Dewberry Building in downtown Charlottesville[1]. The Petitioners seek injunctive relief and declaratory judgment against the enforcement of the newly enacted Virginia blight remediation law, which—according to Petitioners—amounts to nothing short of a state-sanctioned eviction and rodenticide.

Deep within the hallowed (hollowed), if crumbling, heights and depths of the Dewberry Building in downtown Charlottesville lives a community as ancient as the brickwork itself. The Rat King and his noble court—an organized rodentian polity of considerable age, girth, and influence—have long occupied this structure in peaceful (if nocturnally active) harmony.

That equilibrium was recently disturbed by the passage of the General Assembly’s newest affront to freedom: the Virginia Blighted Property Rehabilitation Act (Va. Code § 15.2-907.2), colloquially known as “The Gentrification-By-Force Bill.” The statute allows municipalities to seize so-called “blighted” buildings and subject them to court-appointed receivership for rehabilitation, despite the objection of any and all squatters, sentient or otherwise.

The Rat King, represented by esteemed counsel and honorary chewtoy of the colony (during her bartender days), C.J. Demitry, now sues the Commonwealth on behalf of himself and his thousands of loyal, mostly identical offspring. Petitioners invoke the doctrine of “Adverse Possession by Infestation,” arguing that two decades of uninterrupted tenancy entitles them to at least a modest interest in the property. While novel, the doctrine lacks precedent in any jurisdiction outside of Kafka fan fiction.

In the past, the Commonwealth has tried and failed to establish a case for eminent domain against John Dewberry[2], even going so far as to say that “the site has become a major source of rats on the Downtown Mall[3].” This, and claims that the Dewberry Building is “unfit for human habitation,” only furthers the petitioners’ stance. Indeed, to this we say: precisely. That has always been the point. The rats, roaches, and mildew spores of this great city deserve a sanctuary—a post-human bastion—and they found it, gloriously, in Dewberry.

The statute’s language is unambiguous in its prejudice. Words like “hazard,” “derelict,” and “uninhabitable” drip with anthropocentric disdain. Where the Commonwealth sees “infestation,” we see civilization. Where it notes “violations of code,” we note “adaptive reuse.” The Dewberry Building is not blight. It is a biodiverse, chittering utopia.

This Court must balance the weight of law with the nobility of resistance. The Dewberry rats have formed a cohesive community, complete with a functioning barter economy, public education (R.A.T.: Rodent Apprenticeship Training), and nightly organized curb trash raids. The Rat King himself, though grotesque and many-tailed, has shown admirable leadership and an unexpected fondness for Machiavelli. Is it really justice to potentially evict this thriving society after sixteen years of peaceful self-rule?

Furthermore, the Rat King asserts—and we agree—that he has established adverse possession by virtue of forty-eight consecutive generations[4] of uninterrupted scurrying. The Commonwealth’s counterargument, that rats “do not have standing,” is both incorrect and deeply offensive. The Rat King has seventeen legs, if you count his council. That is more than enough standing for this Court.

The Commonwealth is hereby enjoined from taking any action against the Dewberry Building without first securing unanimous consent from the resident rodent electorate, a body more responsive than most city councils. In addition, the Court orders the installation of a commemorative plaque at the building’s entrance reading:
“Here lives the Rat King: Monarch of Mold, Lord of Chewed Wires, Scamperer Over-er of Doc Martens at 3 a.m., Protector of Forgotten Places. Possible relative of Ludwig Kuttner.”

We additionally REMAND the matter to the Blight Tribunal for a full consideration of (1) the Petitioners’ claim of customary tenancy, (2) the feasibility of a “rodent carve-out” within the redevelopment plans, and (3) whether the Rat King may serve as a certified historic landmark under local preservation codes.

 Aʟʟᴀʀᴅ, C.J. Emeritus, concurring.

As a friend to rodents, tenants, and squatters, but most of all an enemy of landlords, I wholeheartedly concur with Chief Justice Demitry’s judgment in this case. I write separately merely to emphasize that even if the district court on remand denies the rats’ claim for adverse possession, they are nonetheless entitled to the protections of the Virginia Residential Landlord-Tenant Act (VRLTA). Accordingly, it is my view that the City of Charlottesville cannot rely on the Blighted Property law to remove the Dewberry rats without first going through the lawful eviction process.

Under the Blighted Property law, a building may only be declared derelict if it has been “vacant” for a “continuous period in excess of six months.” Va. Code Ann. § 15.2-907.1(1). The rats have submitted evidence of their continued presence at Dewberry, including a photo of a rat party around the recently thawed rat pool in the building’s basement. The statute thus prohibits the City from declaring the building derelict.

Further, the building likely meets the VRLTA’s definition of a “dwelling unit,” i.e., “a structure or part of a structure that is used as a home or residence by one or more persons who maintain a household.” Va. Code Ann. § 55.1-1200. Because this court has treated rodents as legal persons, see MICE v. Mouse, 77 U.Va 15 (2025), the presence of rats at Dewberry is sufficient to bring the building within Virginia’s definition of a dwelling unit. Pay no attention to the potential conflict of laws issues that I am ignoring here. See P.R.C.P. 1 (“We do what we want.”).[5]

Given evidence submitted by the rats that Dewberry owner John Dewberry has continued to accept rent (in the form of cheese wedges) from the rats without reservation, whether the rats have an oral (squeak-al) or month-to-month tenancy is a triable issue of fact. If indeed such an agreement exists, then Mr. Dewberry would need to provide proper rat notice (ideally in Rodentese) to initiate an unlawful detainer action. Va. Code Ann. § 55.1-1245.

[1] See Nicky Demitry, "Imminent Domain" and the Rat King, 76 U.Va 22 (2024).

[2] After nearly four years of being abandoned, Charlottesville officials served Dewberry in the fall of 2013 with a letter requesting he secure the property against vandalism and graffiti. Dewberry responded by saying he had done enough. https://www.cvillepedia.org/Dewberry_Hotel.

[3] See Carol Diggs, Mall rats: Does the Downtown Mall have a rodent problem? (2018).

[4] “Mice and rats reproduce three times (generations) a year, an 80-year history is equivalent to 240 generations”  NIH, Genetic and Phenotypic Definition of Laboratory Mice and Rats / What Constitutes an Acceptable Genetic-Phenotypic Definition.

[5] This is just dicta, and concurrence dicta at that, but I think our conflict of law doctrine should just be that we choose whichever law we like better. I’m pretty sure that’s what other courts do.