Rats Limber Up for Olympics After Cat Cull

I've always hated rats. And there it was, the sound of rustling in the rubbish. At first we thought it was cats, but then we glimpsed their spindly tails.

Unperturbed, they were crashing around inside the cans. In the somnolent, late-night darkness it was scary. Plaka, the heart of historic Athens, had a rat problem, then?

Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a cat for some time; even my favourite restaurateur, who once seemed to spend hours shooing them away, had commented on the mysterious disappearance of the feline population.

"Athens beautiful, Athens clean," he grunted. "For the Olympics."

So clean, I thought, watching the rats, that we now ran the risk of contracting the plague.

Animal welfare groups say they have lost count of the numbers involved in the pre-Olympic cull.

The local penchant for killing off unwanted cats and dogs, by lacing food with pesticides, is not new. But in the final stretch before the games, it has assumed an unpleasant vigour. If you're an early riser you'll encounter the furry carcasses dumped in rubbish bins.

Since Socrates, the practice of neutering has been opposed in this country on the grounds that it offends an animal's machismo. A puss may end up drowned or poisoned, but while alive it must be allowed to enjoy the pleasures of sex, one of my neighbours explained.

The population problem is not easy to tame. In central Athens alone, an estimated 15,000 feral dogs lope about the pavements, crossroads and the wooded limestone hills around the Acropolis. Often you'll trip over the scrawny canines as you step into a cafe or bar. Most are believed to be abandoned pets.

Given the ongoing official reluctance to enforce animal protection laws, animal rights groups are now lobbying tourists to boycott the games.

Until recently, the notion of pets being guaranteed a minimum quality of life was about as alien in Greece as the idea that a dog is a friend.

This was brought home to me when my fear of the rat tribe prompted a visit to the local vet. I was sorry, I said, but I had spied rodents quite near my home. Had he, perhaps, noticed that the cat population was unusually low?

To my surprise he looked suspicious, and then angry. Did I not know that, often, rats chased cats, he shot back. All this talk about Greeks not liking animals was most unfair.

"In Britain, your country, they believe in euthanasia. Strays are picked up off the streets and if they're not collected, they die," he said.

I only had to look at the recent surge in the number of pet shops in Greece to see that attitudes towards animals had changed, he added.

Greeks no longer see domestic pets purely as status symbols, and the demand for pedigrees has declined.

Among the young, the latest fad is the wallaby and green iguana, both of which are readily available at your neighbourhood store.

"Teenagers say the iguana is really in," says Vasso, who runs my local pet shop. "They may grow very big - longer than two metres," she beams, pointing to a set of the reptiles in a small glass cage.

"But they're also believed to bring incredibly good luck."