2017

1
A Poem for Wills on His Birthday
2
Sherlock Herms in…Intimations
3
A Poem for Belle on her Birthday
4
Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees
5
Stupidity or Devolution?
6
Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms?
7
Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order
8
Dori Reviews #PioneerPet Raindrop Fountain for Frank
9
Reality Bites, Sherlock Herms
10
It’s Wonderpurr to be a #Blogpaws Finalist

A Poem for Wills on His Birthday

Today was supposed to be my Pwince Honeysmoochies birthday. You know him as Wills @HRMeownessWills. But he was called Over the Rainbow Bridge way too soon. I can’t send him pawsents anymore, but instead I wrote him a poem. I hope he likes it.

Sherlock Herms in…Intimations

Previously on Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees

“Maybe yoo just need to stop twying so hard to be like Shewlock Homes,” Dori said. “Stop twying to be someone yoo awen’t. And stop being so humorless. We are Finalists for Blogpaws Best Pet Humor Blog. Our furends aren’t stopping by on Fridays to soak in yoor melodwama. They got enough of that at home. They visit us to laugh. Yoo used to be fun before yoo became a detective, Hwermie. Yoo need to be fun again.”

I nodded. “Okay. I guess maybe I’m putting unnecessary pressure on myself.”

“Ya think? I’m pwetty sure Shewlock Homes didn’t sit around on Baker Stweet bending Watson’s ear about his fear of failing or how he feels inadequate.”

“I just don’t want to fail, Dori.”

“Hwermie, failure is a bwuise, not a tattoo.”

“Good point.”

“And yoo gotta stop growling at me when I don’t measure up to yoor high expectations. Blowing out my candle doesn’t make yoors shine any bwighter.”

I sat back, stunned by her articulate reprimand.

“Don’t blame me for disappointing yoo, Hwermie. Blame yoorself for expecting too much.”

“Dori, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you felt this way.”

“Don’t apologize yet. I’m not done.” She moved to look beneath her paws. There I saw Mom’s phone with the screen filled with motivational memes. She read, “What screws us up most in life is the picture in our heads of how its supposed to be.”

I pointed to the next meme. “I like that one.”

“Yoo need to go back to being funner, Hwermie. Sewriously, yoo stawting to get fwrown lines.”

“Sounds like the formula to a great detective team, Dori.” I crawled onto the bench and lay with my head on her tail.

As the moon rose high in the night sky, I released the last of my self doubts. Life is too short to live in fear of making mistakes. Or getting frown lines.

You can quote me.

When I awoke the next morning I found Dori snuggled against me, using my floofy tail for her pillow. After spending an hour exploring motivational memes on our mom’s phone, she had fallen into a deep sleep, but I hadn’t closed my eyes for more than what seemed like a minute. I was worried about solving a case.

Two ghost ladies who hung out on our house rooftop had asked me to tell their granddaughter that she was dead cuz she was in Denial. But Violet and Isobel couldn’t give me details about their granddaughter’s death because they were under a G.A.G. Order.

“What does G.A.G. stand for?” I’d asked them.

“Alas, we are gagged by the G.A.G.,” Violet said, “unable to discuss such specifics.”

Dori had then opened her book, Ghost Hunters Do It… and read, “G.A.G. stands for Ghost Authorization Guidelines. Number three prohibits spirits from discussing specific details of another spirit’s life and death.”

Dori had then wanted to play 20 Questions with the ghost ladies to ascertain (my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar) details of their granddaughter’s death, but then I kinda sorta got my floofy tail all knotted up with self-importance and growled at her. And hurt her feelings. Read More

A Poem for Belle on her Birthday

My beautiful wife, Belle @Frankencat1, and I were meowied on June 22, 2013. We enjoyed a wonderpurr three years together before she went Over the Rainbow Bridge unexpectedly on August 1, 2016. Today would have been Belle’s birthday. I know she still visits me as an angel, but I miss her still, and I wrote a poem for her.

Sherlock Herms Meets Evie Pees

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms

“Dori, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending with you. I’m just frustrated. How am I supposed to find a dead lady who doesn’t know she’s dead? Especially when my clients refuse to answer direct questions about who she is. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name.”

“Why don’t yoo ask me who she is. I know.”

I stared at my little sister. “What? Who? Tell me!”

“Now yoo sound bossy.” She walked to the door leading to the stairs to my office.

I growled, “Dori!”

Her paw on the doorknob, she narrowed her eyes at me. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. Dori claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.

“Dori! Stop right there. Tell me the granddaughter’s name. I’m your boss.”

Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “I thought yoo were my pawtner.” A tear trickled through her whiskers, making me feel like a two-headed monster.

I ran to throw my paws around my little sister, but she closed the door between us. By locking it, she put an exclamation point on her feelings.

I felt wretched. I hadn’t meant to growl or be condescending. I loved Dori with all my heart. And while she could overwhelm and exaspurrate me, she’d also had a big impact on solving my cases. Our cases. She was my partner. My bestest friend.

I covered my eyes with my paws and moaned, “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. But I did. I’m a baaaad kitty.”

“Youse not a bad kitty kitty,” said a sparkly voice. “Youse a good kitty kitty.” The high-pitched baby talk triggered a memory of the day we’d arrived at our new home. “Youse just need to a-poly-gize to make Dori feel awwww better.”

I lowered my paws to see the blonde lady in a pink polka-dotted dress.

The lady Dori called Evie Pees.

And now… Evie Pees

I had no idea who she had been in life, but in death Evie Pees captivated me with her charm. She reminded me of a bubbly Elle Woods with Oprah’s knack for warm compassion. And while her Jennifer Tilly-like baby voice kinda grated on my last nerve, she drew me to her like a moth to a flame.

At a glance she looked as alive as my pawrents, but then I noticed how the moonlight turned her pale skin almost translucent. It didn’t take a pawfessional purranormal detective to realize that meant she was dead. Despite that, I felt comfortable with her. I guess that was the Spirit Counselor in me that Charley mentioned.

Midnight had come and gone, and the air had turned chilly. Still, we sat on the roof talking, mostly of my frustration to present myself as a hardboiled detective with grit in my blood, while my little sister innocently undermined me by playing at being a detective instead of acting like a pawfessional.

“Dori isn’t deliberately trying to embarrass you,” Evie told me. “She thinks the world of you. She is very proud to be your partner.”

After a solid hour of listening to her baby talk, I’d found the courage to explain to Evie that my pawrents speak to me and my fursibs like intelligent equals—never newborn pets. She’d found this bit of information interesting, and had stopped using the high-pitched nonsensical cooing that had made Frank want to spray stuff when we had first arrived at our new home. Read More

Stupidity or Devolution?

You’re zooming through an alternative realm, not only of sight and sound, but also of smells as Frank just finished using the litter box. An excursion into a Wonderpurr place where fences are high enough to reach the roof, and the stars have the pawsibility of being swatted from the sky. Get ready to mark your territory—your next stop is…

Wikipedia says Devolution or backward evolution is the notion that species can revert into more primitive forms over time. Purrsonally I think it means when a hoomom’s mind goes numb with no reason when she should know better. Kinda like Mariah Carey saying, “Whenever I watch TV and see those poor, starving kids all over the world, I can’t help but cry. I mean I’d love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff.”

But I’m not talking about Mariah Carey. I’m referring to my own hoomom. Read More

Will Dori Forgive Sherlock Herms?

Previously on Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order…

Dori slapped her book shut. “Let’s play 20 Questions. All yoo have to do is nod if we guess correctly. If we don’t, then yoo just sit there.”

The ladies put their heads together, whispering. Then Violet said, “I suppose we won’t be breaking the rules if we simply nod.”

“Excellent!” Dori put her book aside. “Did yoor granddaughter like pink? The color, not the singer.”

The ladies nodded.

“Did she like kitties?”

Again they nodded.

“Did she—?”

“Dori!” I snarled, embarrassed by her schoolgirl questions. “We need information on her death, not her fave colors and pets.” As my sister sat back with crossed arms and an even crosser expression, I asked my clients, “Did your granddaughter know the person who killed her?”

They stared at me. Then said, “We may need a few days before we can resume this interview.”

As Violet and Isobel faded away, I said to Dori. “I’m more than a spirit counselor. I’m a detective, and detectives detect. Tomorrow we will talk with the neighbors.”

Dori’s sulky puss warned me she was still hissed that I’d scolded her. “I got a better idea. Yoo talk with the neighbors. I might ask dumb questions about fave colors and fave pets.”

“I didn’t say your questions were dumb.”

“Yoo had a condescending tone to yoor voice.”

“I… I did not.”

“Did so. Tomorrow I’m going to take my dumb questions and talk with the kitties who live in the park.”

“What? Why?”

“So they can tell me about the lady who wears pink and loves kitties.” She picked up her book, prepared to leave.

I grabbed her tail. “Dori, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending with you. I’m just frustrated. How am I supposed to find a dead lady who doesn’t know she’s dead? Especially when my clients refuse to answer direct questions about who she is. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name.”

“Why don’t yoo ask me who she is. I know.”

I stared at my little sister. “What? Who? Tell me!”

“Now yoo sound bossy.” She walked to the door leading to the stairs to my office.

I growled, “Dori!”

Her paw on the doorknob, she narrowed her eyes at me. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. Dori claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.

“Dori! Stop right there. Tell me the granddaughter’s name. I’m your boss.”

Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “I thought yoo were my pawtner.” A tear trickled through her whiskers, making me feel like a two-headed monster.

I ran to throw my paws around my little sister, but she closed the door between us. By locking it, she put an exclamation point on her feelings. Read More

Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order

Previously on Sherlock Herms in Denial.

“You want me to find out who murdered your granddaughter?” I asked Violet.

“No! We already know who murdered her. Suffice to say we would be extremely pleased if you could bring the murderer to justice, but that isn’t why we wish to hire you. We want you to convince my granddaughter of her disembodied state so she can accept being dead. She’s in Denial, Detective Herms.”

And now… Sherlock Herms in G.A.G. Order

I sat on the bench across the road from our new home watching a pair of piping plovers skip along the sandy beach. The breeze felt cool and smelled of fish mixed with pungent earth warming to the idea that spring had sprung.

As the sun set over the ocean-size lake, my thoughts drifted back a few months to the time my friend and mentor Charley gave me a lesson on Inattentional Blindness. He’d told me to first focus on the birdbath, then shift my attention to the window reflection without turning around and tell him what was going on behind me in the room.

I’d been failing as a detective because I was so highly distracted by everything, I couldn’t focus on any one thing at a time. That day, by shifting my attention to the reflection, I’d seen Dori talking with Charley, and my other sister Candy was asleep on the back of the sofa. I’d also seen an angel with huge wings, along with some dood wearing sunglasses that turned out to be Ghost Guy who eventually summoned the demons that ran us out of our home.

When I arrived at my new home, I’d discovered Charley waiting for me. He’d overheard my thoughts about no longer wanting to be a ghost hunter. Who would after being sucked into Hell through an Ouija board? I was done with demons, big time! Charley is now my Guardian Angel and I guess there is some special dispensation that says G.A.’s can listen in on our thoughts. (I know, unnerving!)

I’d opened the Wonderpurr Detective Agency to learn how to solve crimes so I could help my author mom who wanted to write mysteries. I’m her mews, you see. I help her write novels. A year ago we’d watched a documentary on famous detectives that inspired me to be like Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe for their hardboiled detective lingo, and Sherlock Holmes for his use of logical reason to solve cases. Plus I liked his hat. I wanted to get back to the basics, and purranormal investigating was anything but basic.

That’s when Charley brought up my Inattentional Blindness. “When I gave you that lesson, Herman, I didn’t realize you could see into the future. But you can. That is your true talent. And with that talent comes the ability to see spirits. I cannot promise that demons will not try to approach you, because Evil is attracted to Good. But I can promise that I will always be there to prevent them from harming you and Dori, and your family.”

I’d hung my head. “How am I supposed to be my mom’s writer mews when I’m busy counseling spirits?”

“You are where you are supposed to be. You are here now…to help someone.”

Violet and Isobel, the ladies I’d lunched with on the rooftop, hired me to convince their granddaughter of her disembodied state so she could accept being dead. Looked like my role as a Spirit Counselor was about to take off. I didn’t want this job, but Charley seemed pretty set on me doing it. And how do you argue with your Guardian Angel who is also your mentor and good friend?

Deep in thought, I didn’t hear Dori arrive until she pounced onto the bench beside me. “Wanna wrassle, Hwermie?”

“No thanks.”

She flopped down to lick her paws. Then she spied the plovers. “Wanna chase birdies?”

“Not really.”

She nudged me. “Yoo were quiet at dinner. Cat got your tongue?” She meowed with laughter, but I only sighed. “What’s wrong, Hwermie? Why yoo sad?”

“I’m not sad, honey. Just…thoughtful. I got my first case tonight.”

She looked at me with surprise. “How? Yoor phone don’t work no more.”

“I don’t think it ever worked. When I found it in my desk drawer back at our old house, all I did was place it on the desk. I never asked anyone to hook it up.”

“So that means… What?”

“Think about who called on that phone.”

Dori’s eyes glazed over. “I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast, much less who called last year.”

“The calls came from the 1940’s. From dead people.”

“I think you’re mixing your movies.”

“Who hired us?”

“Violet and Isobel. They want us to tell their granddaughter she’s dead.”

“She don’t know she’s dead?”

“Apparently she’s in denial.”

“Egypt? Did she drown?”

“That’s what I asked, but they said denial is another name for purrgatory. She thinks she’s still alive.”

“So they want yoo to show her The Light?”

“Actually, The Roof. They want her to join them for tea.” As Dori turned to look at our rooftop, I asked, “Are they there?”

“Two old ladies? One with white hair? One with yellow hair?”

“That’s them.”

“Nope. Not there.”

When I turned around, Dori giggled behind her paw. “Made yoo look.” She waved at our clients. They waved back, then gestured for us to join them. “They seem like nice ladies, for dead hoomons.”

“I need more details on the granddaughter. Let’s go intermew them.” I moved to stand.

Dori stayed put. “We have to wait until dark.”

“Why?”

“Cuz that’s when ghosts come out of hiding. My book, Ghost Hunters Do It With the Lights Off, says so.”

I saw Violet and Isobel had their hands on their hips, clearly wondering why we were sitting on our tails. “It’s twilight. That’s dark enough. Let’s go.”

Violet poured her grassy-scented clover tea into cups for Dori and me. “In life my granddaughter was a beautiful girl with a sparkling personality. She easily made friends and was loved by everyone.”

“Almost everyone,” Isobel corrected.

“Indeed,” Violet responded with raised brows. “I dare say jealousy is a two-headed monster, able to fool even those closest to them.”

Dori gasped. “A two-headed monster killed her?”

“They speak in obscure references,” I whispered to my sister. Obscure was my Word of the Day on my Word of the Day calendar. I poised a freshly sharpened purrple crayon over my professional detective notebook. “How did she die?” I asked my clients. “Who killed her?”

“We must wait for dark to intermew them. My book, Ghost Hunters Do It With the Lights Off, says so.”… Click To Tweet

“And how?” Dori added. “That’s impawtent to know.”

“We cannot tell you,” Isobel told us. “We are under a G.A.G. order.”

Dori’s eyes grew huge. I can only imagine what she was thinking.

“What does G.A.G. stand for?” I asked.

“Alas, we are gagged by the G.A.G.,” Violet said, “unable to discuss such specifics.”

Dori opened her Ghost Hunters Do It… book. “G.A.G. stands for Ghost Authorization Guidelines. Number three prohibits spirits from discussing specific details of another spirit’s life and death.”

I asked, “How can I help when you can’t give me details?” My clients shrugged in unison.

Dori slapped her book shut. “Let’s play 20 Questions. All yoo have to do is nod if we guess correctly. If we don’t, then yoo just sit there.”

The ladies put their heads together, whispering. Then Violet said, “I suppose we won’t be breaking the rules if we simply nod.”

“Excellent!” Dori put her book aside. “Did yoor granddaughter like pink? The color, not the singer.”

The ladies nodded.

“Did she like kitties?”

Again they nodded.

“Did she—?”

“Dori!” I snarled, embarrassed by her schoolgirl questions. “We need information on her death, not her fave colors and pets.” As my sister sat back with crossed arms and an even crosser expression, I asked my clients, “Did your granddaughter know the person who killed her?”

They stared at me. Then again put their heads together, whispering. Finally Violet said, “Detective Herms, we need to consult the Higher Ups.”

“We don’t wish to jeopardize our heavenly reward,” Isobel added as she faded away.

“We may need a few days before we can resume this interview,” Violet said as she too departed. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed with disappointment. A few days was a long time to a housecat. Then I heard a whisper on the fragrant twilight breeze. “She easily made friends and was loved by everyone… Everyone.”

I said to Dori. “I’m more than a spirit counselor. I’m a detective, and detectives detect. Tomorrow we will talk with the neighbors.”

Dori’s sulky puss warned me she was still hissed that I’d scolded her. “I got a better idea. Yoo talk with the neighbors. I might ask dumb questions about fave colors and fave pets.”

“I didn’t say your questions were dumb.”

“Yoo had a condescending tone to yoor voice.”

“I… I did not.”

“Did so. Tomorrow I’m going to take my dumb questions and talk with the kitties who live in the park.”

“What? Why?”

“So they can tell me about the lady who wears pink and loves kitties.” She picked up her book, prepared to leave.

I grabbed her tail. “Dori, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be condescending with you. I’m just frustrated. How am I supposed to find a dead lady who doesn’t know she’s dead? Especially when my clients refuse to answer direct questions about who she is. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name.”

“Why don’t yoo ask me who she is. I know.”

I stared at my little sister. “What? Who? Tell me!”

“Now yoo sound bossy.” She walked to the door leading to the stairs to my office.

I growled, “Dori!”

Her paw on the doorknob, she narrowed her eyes at me. I’d seen that look before—right before I got a headache. Dori claims she can give migraines just by thinking one into your head, and I believe her.

“Dori! Stop right there. Tell me the granddaughter’s name. I’m your boss.”

Her eyes brimmed with hurt. “I thought yoo were my pawtner.” A tear trickled through her whiskers, making me feel like a two-headed monster.

I ran to throw my paws around my little sister, but she closed the door between us. By locking it, she put an exclamation point on her feelings.

I felt wretched. I hadn’t meant to growl or be condescending. I loved Dori with all my heart. And while she could overwhelm and exaspurrate me, she’d also had a big impact on solving my cases. Our cases. She was my partner. My best friend.

I covered my eyes with my paws and moaned, “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. But I did. I’m a baaaad kitty.”

“Youse not a bad kitty kitty,” said a sparkly voice. “Youse a good kitty kitty.” The high-pitched baby talk triggered a memory of the day we’d arrived at our new home and a baby-talking blonde lady in a pink polka-dotted dress tried to lure us inside with the temptation of fresh litter boxes. “Youse just need to a-poly-gize to make Dori feel awwww better.”

I lowered my paws to see the lady in pink polka-dots.

The lady Dori called Evie Pees.

TO BE CONTINUED FRIDAY, APRIL 14th.

Welcome to Season Two of Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries starring me, Herman @TattleCat and my lil sisfur, Dori @Adorapurr on Twitter.  If you’re new to us, you’ll find my Season One Case Files located in my Case Note Archives . You can also Subscribe to this Wonderpurr blog by email. See the side column. Go on, I’ll wait while you look.

I hope you’ve enjoyed today’s story, and if you did, let me know in the Comments below. And pleeeeze tell your friends. All of them. Even the ones you don’t like. Until next time…

Have a Wonderpurr Week!

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And on Instagram as Wonderpurr_Life.

Dori Reviews #PioneerPet Raindrop Fountain for Frank

Hi everyone! It’s me, Dori. *wavy paws*

As yoo may have heard, my brofur Fwank almost died this past month from a blocked bladder. It was horrible! Something my Mom never wants to go through again with any of us. So she bought us a new fountain. I asked to review it before she gave it to Fwank cuz he’s a copycat and he likes most of the stuff I like.

Grab a bag of tweats and pull up a chair. This is my review:

Mom Kim: I purchased the Pioneer Pet Raindrop Fountain from Chewy.com because I liked the design.  Two cats can drink at the same time. The fountain part is made of stainless steel. It has a charcoal filter and was easy to assemble with a 60oz water capacity. Since I’m refilling the fountain every day, clearly The Wonderpurr Gang is using the fountain…including Frank. Since Chewy.com has wonderpurr prices, I plan to buy a couple more of these fountains.

As mentioned, I purchased this fountain. I am not being paid for this review.

Reality Bites, Sherlock Herms

How ironic that Wonderpurr.com is a finalist for a Blogpaws Nose to Nose award for Best Pet Humor Blog, and yet I felt anything but funny.

I sat on Frank’s hospital bed, clutching my floofy tail with worry. Dori, Opie, Candy and the other members of the Wonderpurr Gang were with me. While none of us wanted to be at the vet jail, we were there to surround Frank with healing purrs.

Thursday morning started out as usual with Frank jumping on the kitchen counter to “help” Mom fix breakfast. After he ate, he went outside to yell at Chevy, a young stray tabby who arrived a few days after Noah died in February. Of course! Mom’s a cat magnet and there is a waiting list for mempurrship to the Wonderpurr Gang.

After she convinced Frank to return inside, he saw a potted rose bush in the foyer that Dad put there because the nights had dipped back to freezing. Me and Mom were preoccupied trying to finish last Friday’s Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mystery when suddenly Frank started screaming. I thought he had a thorn in his paw, but the bush didn’t have thorns. When Mom picked him up and he screamed louder, she ran him to the closest animal hospital. His bladder was totally blocked. We never saw it coming. Read More

It’s Wonderpurr to be a #Blogpaws Finalist

Herman: Dori! What the Friskies are you doing?

Dori: I’m pwacticing to accept my reward for Bestest Pet Hoomor Blog at the Blogpaws Nose-to-Nose awards banquet in May. Yoo like my dwess?

Herman:You look like a baby Cruella DeVille. And it’s award, not reward. The entire Wonderpurr Gang is among the finalists.

Dori: But I’m the bweak out star. Everybody says so.

Herman: You don’t know anybody. You’re an indoor cat and hide under the sofa when the doorbell rings.

Dori: I have more costume changes. Owl bee bach. *zooms off*

Herman: While Dori is gone, I’d like to thank everyone who nominated Wonderpurr.com for a Nose-to-Nose award, and I’d like to thank Blogpaws for choosing us as a Finalist for the Best Pet Humor Blog. It’s a true honor as Wonderpurr.com is only a year and a half old. We didn’t start Sherlock Herms Purranormal Mysteries until May 22, 2016 which is not only Sherlock Holmes Day, but also the birthdate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyal.

It’s been a Wonderpurr experience connecting with our readers. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been bamboozied over how to solve a mystery and the comments helped steer the story.

Here’s a Fun Fact: I write the mysteries off the top of my head the week the story get published, which makes for some real drama when Reality rears it’s ugly head and bites me in the floofy tail. So reader interaction is very appreciated.

Dori: *enters twirling* Yoo like my dwess?

Herman: Yes. It’s very you.

Dori: I’m known for my pweferance for pink, but purrhaps I’m in a rut. Stay put. Owl bee bach. *zooms off*

Herman: As I was saying, Readers mean a lot to me. More than they realize. Me and my mom are authors. We wrote a few books. It’s in our blood to entertain–even for free, although my financial wiz Dad can’t wrap his brain around that idea.

Dori: *enters twirling* What do yoo think of this dwess?

Herman: It’s nice, but you do look pretty in pink.

Dori: Owl bee–

Herman: Wait! I’ve noticed you are practicing acceptance speeches. Does that mean you are planning to go to Blogpaws? Read More

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