Hoarding nearly 90 animals, two found dead
Philadelphia, PA (US)Incident Date: Wednesday, Jul 14, 2010
County: Philadelphia
Charges: Misdemeanor
Disposition: Alleged
Alleged: Frances Rotonta
Case Updates: 2 update(s) available
The stench surging out of the house was an ungodly combination of feces and urine, and the noises were the cries and howls of what PSPCA Director of Law Enforcement George Bengal estimates could be up to 100 animals living in squalor at 739 Earp St. in South Philadelphia tonight.
The PSPCA began the raid around 3 p.m. today. By 8:30 p.m., they had already rescued over 50 dogs and one cat from what Bengal called the worst case of animal hoarding he's ever seen.
"I swear to god," he said. "This place has more feces in it than I've seen in 20 years. The feces are two feet deep. It's like a volcano pouring out of the house."
"This is bad, this is so bad," said another officer, leaning over and trying to cough the foul odor out of his throat.
By 10 p.m., sources say the tally was up to 69 living animals and 2 dead. The discovery of dead animals in the house escalates the impending charges from a summary offense to a misdemeanor, which means that the woman allegedly responsible, Fran Rotonta, 49, could be arrested.
Rotonta denied allegations of animal abuse and hoarding to PW just yesterday. PW had contacted Rotanta to inquire about neighbors' ongoing complaints of a foul stench and concerns that she was abusing animals.
"I own four dogs and two cats," she said. "I'm going to move because I can't take this anymore. It's B.S.," she said.
Rotonta claimed she was the target of a harassment campaign that began a year ago after a dispute with some neighbors she could not name. She claimed that since the argument, spiteful neighbors sent cops, PSPCA officers and pizza delivery to her house, and that the harassment was making her sick.
"Last year, I had a heart attack," she said. "It's upsetting me, and now it's starting again … They're all liars."
"I'm going to get a lawyer and sue them, that's what I'm going to do," she said.
She said the PSPCA had been just been to the house recently. "They said I was beating a cat up. Why do people do that? I would never do that. I love animals," said Rotonta, sounding genuinely upset.
Rotonta said that she was so sick of the harassment that even though the Earp Street house has been in her husband's family for generations, she was planning to leave and move "out to the country" this September to escape the harassment.
"The dogs do bark a little," she conceded.
Rotonta reportedly lived in the house with her husband Rich, though neighbors say they frequently saw him sleeping in the car presumably to escape the odor. Rich sat on the stoop across the street and watched the raid but stayed away. He had no comment.
Dozens of neighbors stood in groups and stared as PSPCA investigators removed one dog at a time from the house. One PSPCA officer, some in hazmat suits and gas masks, would exit the front door holding up a captured dog to be photographed while another recorded the markings and sex and then gingerly placed it in a cubbyhole of the animal ambulance.
"We're tripling them up in there," said an officer.
The dogs coming out of the house varied in age and weight and condition, though they were all small and mostly Chihuahuas. Some clearly had untreated skin conditions. PSPCA officers pulled out a glass box that contained what looked like ten tiny black and white puppies each no bigger than a mouse. The officers estimated the puppies were about a week old.
Bengal said that the animals weren't kept in cages in the house or locked in a basement, as neighbors feared. Instead, the dogs ran loose through all three floors of house, which was also packed with boxes and assorted junk. Bengal called Rotonta a hoarder, a term commonly used in animal circles for someone who collects animals the same way they tend to collect newspapers and random things.
"Unlike the woman last night, [Rotonta] admitted that she had a problem and that's unusual," said Bengal, referring to a similarly shocking raid that took place this Tuesday night. In Tuesday's raid, 53 cats, eight dogs, 21 chinchillas and eight birds and more than 30 dead animals in a basement freezer were confiscated from the 5700 block of Mascher St.
Rotonta cooperated with authorities by surrendering the animals. If she hadn't, the dogs would have had to stay at the PSPCA shelter during future court proceedings, which could stretch for years. Since she surrendered, they can likely be adopted and fostered after they are checked out and processed.
Bengal couldn't of course confirm all the charges as the raid is ongoing, but he did say that so far, there is at least one charge of "unsanitary confinement" for each animal that is rescued from the house, at a fine of $750 per animal. There are likely additional fines for lack of medical care for the animals.
The lead PSPCA investigator on the case is Betty Sorrel. PSPCA policy prohibits Sorrel from commenting, but sources say that she has been working on the case since at least fall of last year, when neighbors grossed out by the smell and concerned about the possibility of this scenario--or worse--began contacting authorities.
Bengal says that the PSPCA and the city will help Rotonta find treatment for her problem, which he calls a mental illness.
"I've never seen anything like this," he said. "We're not just about taking the animals. She definitely needs some psychiatric help … [This house] is uninhabitable for humans."
Bengal confirmed that L&I condemned the property.
As the hours wore on, neighbors--all who requested to remain anonymous-- were shocked but also sad. "We just know her all our lives. She's a nice lady," said a guy looking on. "I guess you could see that she loved animals."
"Well I guess she did," replied a woman sitting nearby on the stoop. "We're up to what, 80? That's not love. That's sick."
Case UpdatesThe "Nightmare on Earp Street" court case has begun. Nearly two months ago, the Pennsylvania Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals raided 739 Earp St. and found what one PSPCA official called "the worst case of animal hoarding" he's ever seen.
Agents seized 85 Chihuahuas, two cats and the remains of two dead dogs from Frances Rotonta's South Philly home on July 14.
Rotonta, 49, who faces 133 charges of animal cruelty, said nothing when she appeared in Municipal Court on Tuesday. Commissioner Ken Snyder said, "This ought to be fun" when he looked at Rotonta's paperwork.
"Look at all these! 133 charges of animal cruelty. This is insane," Snyder said.
According to the PSPCA, if Rotonta is found guilty, "Each citation carries the penalty of up to $750 in fines, no more than 90 days in jail, or both. In addition, the court may order prohibition of animals for the defendant for a period of time not to exceed the maximum jail sentence imposed."
Richard Rotonta was not charged with animal cruelty, though activists say he should have been.
"The defendant's husband was not charged because the Pennsylvania SPCA received information that he was not staying at the residence," says Liz Williamson, the PSPCA's director of public relations. "Also, the defendant clearly stated that she was the owner of the animals."
Neighbors on the South Philly block insist that Richard did live in the house.
The trial is scheduled for Sept. 21. | Source: Philadelphia Weekly - Sept 9, 2010
Update posted on Sep 9, 2010 - 4:37PM |
It's about 5 p.m. and the front door to 739 Earp Street is propped open by milk crates. Dogs are barking and crying somewhere in in the dark, fetid house. Officers from the Pennsylvania Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, some in protective Tyvek suits and gas masks, move swiftly in and out of the building. Upon exiting, each officer instinctively leans over, hands on knees, and tries to hock up the deep, pungent odor of dog feces mixed with urine out of their throats.
"I think we're up to 22," announces one PSPCA officer, referring to the number of Chihuahuas already retrieved from the house.
Onlookers bundle in groups on the narrow South Philly street and sidewalk, staring in dismay, whispering and updating each other on the tally as each dog is removed. "We knew it was bad, we just didn't think it was that bad," says one neighbor.
Even the PPD, witness to all things gruesome, seems taken aback by the unfolding horror show. "It frustrates us," says Officer Christine Rocks, who is guarding the scene with partner Thomas Kolenskiewicz. "I have three rescue pit bulls at home, so if I could take all of them, I would."
The house, owned by Frank and Antoinette Rotonta, is occupied by Rich and Frances Rotonta. Frances sits teary-eyed with her husband and a handful of friends on a stoop across the street, watching as her trembling dogs exit the only home they've ever known. The PSPCA officers photograph each dog and gingerly place them into the red animal ambulance waiting on the curb. At this point, Rotonta has already signed forms to voluntarily surrender the dogs.
It's hard for the officers to catch the dogs because they're running loose through all three floors of the house. To speed things along--all in all, the raid took about eight hours--PSPCA officer Betty Sorrel asks Rotonta for her assistance rounding up the rest of the animals. "It just makes it easier and quicker; the dogs will go to Fran," she says. After a short while, Sorrel comes out, tells the group of friends that Rotonta needs a rest, and asks them to get her a blanket.
News cameras on the scene film PSPCA Director of Law Enforcement George Bengal describing the two to three feet of feces that reportedly cover all the floors and junk in the house. He calls it the worst case of animal hoarding he's ever seen. "It's deplorable," he says. "Feces everywhere, the ammonia is extremely high in the house, there's no outside ventilation. It's uninhabitable for humans."
A worker from the Department of Licenses & Inspections takes a quick tour of the house and condemns it.
About 6:30 p.m., the first animal ambulance, packed full with 30 dogs, peels out to deliver the animals to PSPCA headquarters on Erie Avenue in North Philly. A plastic box filled with 10 tiny, wriggling puppies remains on the stoop. Puppy cries and barks continue to come from the house. By the time the PSPCA wraps up the raid just before midnight on July 14, 85 dogs, two cats and the remains of two dogs have been removed from the Rotontas' house.
To capture the real story of 739 Earp Street, we have to go back in time almost a decade. At its center, it's a story of systemic failure. After all, residents who lived under the foul cloud of the Stink--a horrible stench that radiated from the house for years--and within earshot of what sounded like "a gazillion puppies" had tried to get the city to do something about the house for years and years. Some residents fled, moved out of the 'hood altogether. Some who remained are considering it now, disheartened by the city's inefficiency.
Fear defines a lot of this story. Cresting on a wave of gentrification that rapidly juxtaposed second- and third-generation South Philly residents with newcomers in the last decade, residents of Passyunk Square say they were scared to speak out about the Stink and about what they see as a "culture gap" or the "inherent tension" between some residents on the blocks.
PW spoke with newcomers--all sources requested to remain anonymous--who believe old-school residents use physical intimidation to send the message that they better not try to shake things up for old-timers. They say efforts to battle the Stink are misinterpreted as personal attacks on the Rotontas or, for that matter, old-school residents in general. Now, many say they're frightened of retaliation for the raid, though ironically, all evidence points to the probability that it wasn't even complaints filed with the city's beauracracy that finally made something happen.
Meanwhile, Fran Rotonta says that she believes she is the target of a harassment campaign. "So yeah I had the dogs," she admits, but "they blew it out of proportion, believe me." But her story is a far cry from what she told PW when first contacted the day before the raid. At the time, Rotonta was adamant that she owned just four dogs and two cats. "And I make the cats go in the kitty litter," she added.
"It's bullshit," she said. "I can't take it anymore."
But the complaints were not about the dogs, because no one knew how many were inside the house. They were about the Stink--which by all accounts was impossible to blow out of proportion.
"If you opened your mouth you could taste it, like your face was shoved into a litter box," said one neighbor who reluctantly kept his air conditioner on in an unsuccessful effort to block the odor from invading his home.
"I almost puked the other day just taking out my recycling," he says.
Neighbors say the Stink was bad as far back as they remember, but it became "exponentially" worse in the last two years.
"Last summer was what kicked a lot of people into action, when Fran put some kind of exhaust in the bottom back window that would just constantly spew out the horrible stench," a resident says.
Then the rats came, according to residents and L&I reports.
Frustrated and grossed-out neighbors, some living on Earp Street, some on Sears and Medina streets, the blocks directly behind the house, and a few just within the neighborhood at large, say they've called every city agency and private organization they could think of for help over the last decade.
They called the PSPCA, L&I, Philly311, the Women's Humane Society, the city's Public Health Department, the Streets Department, the Department of Human Services, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), Councilman Frank DiCicco's office and the PPD's 3rd District, which covers that South Philly neighborhood.
But help never came. Callers were referred to other agencies; complaints slipped through a loophole in protocol.
Marc Peralta, COO of the PSPCA, says the organization opened the case against Rotonta in May 2009. But in order to get a search warrant, the PSPCA needs an eyewitness to alleged animal abuse or photographic evidence to constitute probable cause. Since no one on Earp Street ever saw any dogs outside, and the windows of the house were covered, the agency could not get a warrant.
Without an eyewitness, all PSPCA could legally do was knock on the door and leave notes requesting the homeowner call them to set up a voluntary inspection. The agency claims it did that five times, but never received a call back from Rotonta.
Despite the fact that the PSPCA's hands were tied, residents say the PPD would always refer them back to the PSPCA.
The spiral continued with Philly311. The agency assigned a "tag number" but nothing ever came of it. Sources say the Women's Humane Society, PETA, Public Health, Streets and DHS all said it wasn't their problem.
Then there's L&I. Residents claim they filed complaints with L&I as far back as 2003. Though L&I had open violations against the house as recently as June 22, for overgrown weeds, trash, the infestation of insects and rats and "pet odor," L&I Commissioner Frances Burns' office did not return the full case history requested by PW, or explain how the house had violations for "the interior" (as stated in the report) if no one had ever entered the interior.
According to Bengal, the PSPCA frequently coordinates with L&I, so had an L&I worker entered the house, that officer could have served as the eyewitness the PSPCA needed to obtain a search warrant.
Technically, the government could have seized the house since it has had a tax lein since 2004.
For a while, neighbors say they also tried to appeal to Councilman DiCicco, hoping he would put pressure on L&I. No action was taken. Inquiries to DiCicco's office, which confirmed receipt of complaints back in October, went unanswered.
"The city completely let this neighborhood down," says one resident.
Over the years, frustration with the Stink and wheezing beauracracy fermented into fertile soil for speculation about what exactly was going on inside 739 Earp Street.
"I asked someone about the barking one time," says a former resident. "And they said that [Rotonta] had two dogs and a bunch of parakeets that learned how to mimic the dogs, which was supposed to be why it sounded like so many animals were in there."
Some residents were convinced there was a dog-fighting ring in the basement, or a puppy mill or some other type of abuse. Or worse.
"The only time I've ever seen any sign of life, and this lends to the serial-killer theory," says one resident. "All of a sudden the door to the backyard area, which is never open, there was a hand that suddenly poked through from behind one of these coverings and it was hacking at the door handle with a screwdriver."
Some also say that the July 14 raid wasn't the first time the PSPCA came and confiscated animals from the Rotantas' home, but that information cannot be confirmed or denied because according to Peralta, the agency's records aren't up to snuff due to turnover over the years.
As inaction dragged on, neighborhood beef between what some neighbors see as two camps got nasty.
This is the first story new residents will tell when asked why they're scared to speak out: Some time in 2005 or so, a brick or a 2-by-4 sailed through a window on Sears Street, almost hitting the then-resident.
"We heard a big shatter of glass and footsteps running away and we were like, 'What the fuck is that?!'" recalls a former resident of Sears Street. "As we were flying out the door, so was every other neighbor."
Though most aren't sure what provoked the attack, one resident called it retribution for a post on the now defunct phillyblog.com about 739 Earp Street.
"[The thread] resulted in quite literally a shit storm. Someone's house got smeared in dog shit, and I think it was shortly thereafter a brick went through the window next door," says a resident.
The alleged victim has since left the neighborhood, and did not respond to PW's inquiries.
A source also recalls that someone "from Earp Street" shot a crossbow arrow into the grill of a new resident's parked car, puncturing the radiator. Once again, it was attributed to the tension between original residents and gentrifiers.
"I never got why there was so much animosity with new people moving in," says the former resident. "If it did anything, it was upping the value of everybody in the neighborhood."
More recently, neighbors whisper about a resident who was attacked by a man with a crowbar--some say with a baseball bat--after directly asking the Rotontas about the Stink. Another neighbor awoke to fresh smears of dog shit on their house one morning, though it's unclear what preceded the attack.
Neighbors chalk such events up to an "inherent tension" in the neighborhood.
"There's an intimidation factor on the street, it's an old neighborhood that some people have lived on this block or their family for generations," says a resident, recalling the same few incidents of recent years that are perpetually brought up and attributed to this dynamic.
"I definitely feel there is an older group of Philly Southerners living on that street that feel it's their duty to protect their own," says another resident.
"There's a culture gap," says one resident. "It's not just about Fran, but they will just totally defend her."
No one seems to think that the Rotontas have their own dedicated bodyguards or organize or endorse any of these activities per se, it's just that she's of the old school, and the OGs protect their own. After all, every single person that knows Rotonta, and not all of them do, attest to the fact that she's a very nice woman.
These stories led to the belief that the Rotontas were protected by more than a bunch of bullies. Some residents even speculated that Councilman Frank DiCicco, known to be a habitue of an upscale South Philly Italian restaurant where Rich Rotonta's brother has been slinging drinks for the past 30 years, was protecting the family in some way.
One area resident reasoned: "They have to be connected. I mean, how could [the Stink] go on for so long?"
"It's a weird, weird block, man," says a former resident.
Neighbors say this particular patch of South Philly has been plagued by these kinds of incidents since about 2003, when old-timers began selling and renting houses to transplants who were arriving to South Philly in droves.
The diversity of the neighborhood is obvious as you walk down Earp Street and then around the corner, where Sears and Medina streets run parallel to one another across a manicured strip of grassy center island, teeming with artfully arranged plants, flowers and stones.
"It's been the worst of both worlds," says one resident, about his experience with the Stink. "It has the drawbacks of living in both a small town with that mentality and of a big city with no resources."
The Raid
The day before the raid, Rotonta told PW that she received a letter from the PSPCA that same day--the day the agency secured the search warrant--saying that someone reported that she abused a cat. At the time, Rotonta sounded genuinely shocked and outraged by the allegation. "I would never do that," she said. "I love animals."
PSPCA won't confirm the exact charge made by the eyewitness, whose statement enabled PSPCA to secure a search warrant. But sources say rumors are swirling that with the system failing, an animal activist went renegade: It just may have been a false tip to the PSPCA that got them the search warrant.
On Mon., July 12, two days before the raid, an anonymous website poster publicly suggested as much.
"Letters and phone calls aren't working," they wrote. "It may take someone bending the law a bit to get anything done, that's just the way this city works."
They continued:
"If this is really happening, and has been happening for a year, and the police and health department has not acted this entire time, I would hope that one of the neighbors would realize that you have a moral responsibility to find out what is happening by any means necessary."
PW asked the poster if they cried foul. "I didn't make a false tip but I did try to incite people into doing so," the poster says. "Then someone wrote back about how they are afraid of the Rotontas."
False tip or not, the next day, PSPCA had the goods it needed to obtain the search warrant they'd been trying to secure for over a year. The Rotontas' house was finally raided.
At the raid, the "inherent tension" of the neighborhood is apparent. Some neighbors who have complained about the Stink over the years, and even some who haven't, were so frightened to be associated with the takedown that they refuse to come out into the crowded street for a closer look. Many who are outside are leery about talking to the media.
PW stopped a neighbor who was passing through on his way home from work.
"I don't want to say anything more, like anybody else I don't want to be associated with--people see me talking to you," he says, speed-walking away with his head down.
A man in his 30s loudly expresses his annoyance with a news crew seeking comment. "Get your cameras out of here!" he yells.
Fran Rotonta Speaks
Rotonta believes she is the target of a harassment campaign, which she says began a year and a half ago after a dispute with a neighbor over a bag of leaves. She says vines from her yard fell onto his property and when he cleaned them up and bagged them, he received a ticket when he put the bag out on the sidewalk. They argued over who should pay for the ticket.
"I even paid the ticket! I was nice!" says Rotonta. She said that since the argument, spiteful neighbors sent cops, PSPCA agents and pizza deliveries to her house, and that the harassment was making her sick.
"Last year, I had a heart attack," she says. "It's upsetting me, and now it's starting again … They're all liars."
When Rotonta spoke with PW briefly after the raid, she said she had come from the heart doctor that morning and was advised not take on any more stress.
But Rotonta seeks to defend herself against what she sees as a witch hunt.
"Did they tell you that they were terrorizing me?" she asks, referring to the nebulous group of "newcomers" she believes has been harassing her.
"Did they tell you that people throw things in my face when I come home?" she asks. "Yes, bleach and things are thrown in face. These are supposed to be professional people, and I quote. But they're nothing but a bunch of sneaks.
"You look on the blog, you can see everything they've been doing," she says, probably referring to SeeClickFix and PhiladelphiaSpeaks, two of the websites where residents have been cataloguing efforts to combat the Stink since last year. "And it's all stuff they think they saw, they thought they knew, but they know nothing," she told PW before declining further comment.
Rotonta says she began gathering evidence of the harassment the day before the raid, but she says the papers got lost in the shuffle.
One of the papers was a letter that had recently arrived that enraged Rotonta. Rotonta says that the letter accused her of elder abuse against Antoinette Rotonta--her mother-in-law who has been dead since 1968.
"I think you should know how nice they really are, what kind of people they really are," she says, adding that she's, "going to get a lawyer and sue them."
Rotonta doesn't see friction on the block as a result of rapid gentrification or the Stink.
"It's one person on the block ... a lynch mob?" she says. "And he was heard, by my husband and a couple of other people, that he wanted the house knocked down so he could build his house more.
"I'm going to move because I can't take this anymore. It's B.S.," she said before the raid.
Cleaning up
Despite the raid and the shock of the squalor, Rotonta has her supporters. "Every dog will have its day," said one woman on local television news, a friend of Rotontas' who identified herself under a fake alias for various news outlets.
Eager to get the dog-day message out, the woman reiterated the statement to PW during the raid.
She clearly perceives the call to the PSPCA as insult or attack.
"They were being fed. It's not like she starved them. Did you see how healthy they were? Their ribs weren't showing, they weren't bit up like [with] Michael Vick," she reasoned.
"That's not fair what they did to her," she says.
Rotonta doesn't seem to have many out-and-out haters, though one aggressive blogger, enraged by the animal abuse, Twittered "Bitch needs to be knocked out" and posted Rotonta's work number online.
Most feel stuck in the middle one way or another.
"I've known her all my life," says one neighbor at the raid. "Clearly she loves animals."
"That's not love," responds another longtime neighbor, who said she was shocked there were so many dogs in the house. "That's sick."
Many residents who know Rotonta personally say they just aren't interested in "feeding into the neighborhood bullshit."
"It just makes everybody more inflamed and nothing gets done," he says. "It's not productive."
They just want to know: It's been two weeks since the raid. When will everyone get to wake up from the nightmare on Earp Street?
Relief has been swift for the dogs.
Local rescue and adoption networks went into overdrive the night of the raid. With the local shelter taxed to beyond capacity, there simply wasn't any room to keep the dogs at the Hunting Park's Animal Care and Control Team's shelter or the PSPCA's headquarters on Erie Avenue.
After being seized, most of the dogs had to be treated for fleas, mange, rotten teeth and stunted socialization. Bill Smith of Main Line Animal rescue, said some of the dogs had a hard time figuring out how to walk on grass, since they had never seen the stuff. All in all, only about 20 dogs, the ones the worst off, are still being cared for by the PSPCA, according to Peralta.
Back on Earp Street, residents are most concerned about the cleanup, about not living next to a condemned house full of feces and infested with insects and rats. "The real issue is the house needs to get cleaned out," says one neighbor.
A Philly311 rep for L&I said last week that the cleanup of 739 Earp Street is a priority.
What the residents have going for them is that L&I has built a platform on expediting "clean and seal" properties, so leaving a particularly infamous condemned house for very long would not be good public relations.
As for Rotonta, with 130 confirmed summary citation charges of unsanitary conditions, the minimum fine may be almost $195,000. According to the PSPCA's Bengal, Rotonta also won't be able to legally own a pet for 90 days per each citation, which adds up to 32 years.
Since Rotonta cooperated with authorities by voluntarily surrendering the animals at the raid, the case will likely not go to court. If the case doesn't go to court, the tipster's identity will remain sealed.
But questions remain unanswered. In Philadelphia, city ordinance says 12 pets is the limit. Many wonder: Why or how does a person wind up with so many animals?
Many hoarders start out working with animals in some way. Bengal confirmed Rotonta used to breed Chihuahuas a few years ago. Without Rotonta talking, one can only assume it simply got out of hand--a common genesis of an animal hoarding problem.
Animal hoarding is a strange type of animal cruelty because perpetrators don't get off on the physical abuse of animals. They aren't out to make a buck off the pain like dog-fighters, either.
Experts say one of the characteristics of hoarding is that the sufferers are generally unaware or unable to accept that they are not caring for the animals properly.
It's an increasing problem that's not very well-understood.
"It's only within the last 10 or 15 years that it's been studied to any degree," says Gary Patronek, Vice President of Animal Welfare at the Animal Rescue of Boston and speaker at a July 28 symposium on hoarding in Bucks County.
It's estimated that 40 percent of people who hoard stuff hoard animals, too.
It's becoming such a problem that, according to Patronek, mental-health professionals are advocating that hoarding be classified as a distinct disorder in the new Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Mental Disorders, due out May 2013.
A cruelty officer in New Jersey says it's become common over the bridge, where he's pulled sheep out of row homes. It's exploded in Philadelphia, too.
"We used to see cases of animal hoarding maybe once a year or so," Bengal says. "But lately, it's about once or twice a month."
Moving On
The raid has put residents on edge. They don't feel like and don't want to be perceived as witch hunters who intended to take down a beloved matriarch of the street. Fran Rotonta feels persecuted. Newcomers fear retaliation from her so-called protectors.
"The people who think they're protecting her, really aren't," sighs a resident, exhausted by the whole scenario.
Most just want to know when L&I, the city agency they blame most for the disaster, will have the house cleaned up. They're sick of the Stink, and sick of paying extermination fees to get critters out of their homes.
Meanwhile, since the raid, several flowerpots on Sears Street have been stolen in the middle of the night.
"It is of course possible that there is no connection to Earp Street," says one resident. "But the timing is curious." | Source: Philadelphia Weekly - July 27, 2010
Update posted on Sep 9, 2010 - 4:36PM |
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