Not that we’re not amidst a pretty tragic month already, but something about this story is just so sad. Dumping domesticated animals is bad enough — trust me, folks, if they come from a long line of indoor-dwelling creatures, they don’t suddenly recollect their natural instincts when you let them out, any more than you’d suddenly remember how to make arrowheads and bring down wild game.

But it had to be rats? People will rescue kittens and puppies. They’re cute. Poor frightened rats were, as the article puts it, hopeless. It might not rise to the level of decapitations or of Beslan, but this is a kind of karma-screwing wrongness as well. (And no, don’t blame Alberta’s ratlessness. The poor creatures wouldn’t have been clubbed in NYC; they’d have been eaten alive by those big Norway bastards we have.)

Amidst a research project, found this — anyone who remembers the first time they saw it is exceedingly old in Net years (remember Net time?), but it was fun then and it is now.

Moment of joy from SI‘s Rick Reilly, all by himself worth more than I paid for that last ESPN The Magazine subscription: ‘So Phelps, a little dingy himself, hollered, ‘I’ll get it!’ and tore off like an overcaffeinated tuna.” He surely wrote that, sat back, grinned. I read it, sat back, grinned too. Nothing like doing one’s column from the zone.