Albert Harris Photography

Albert Harris Photography Marriage Proposal Photographer. Also a Content Creator for Orange County Animal Services.

09/15/2026

Some shelter cats lost a home. Some never really had one. Now they’re all asking for the same thing. 💔

A home.

They didn’t all get to the same way.

One may have been found outside.
One may have lost the only home they ever knew.
One may have been surrendered.
Another may have simply run out of places to go.

Five cats. Five completely different stories.

But somehow, all five ended up behind the same doors, watching people come and go, wondering if one of those people might finally stop for them.

Mama Gingersnap. Rune. Rumi. Marjorie. Maribel.

They don’t understand why their lives changed.

They don’t know why they’re sleeping here tonight instead of curled up on someone’s bed. They don’t know how many more people will walk past them, or how many more nights they’ll have to wait.

They only know that every time that door opens, there’s another chance. Another chance that someone might look their way.

Another chance that this time, someone won’t leave without them.

Because despite everything that brought each of them here, they all have one thing in common.

They want to go home.

Not back to the lives they had before.

They want to look forward to the person who will look at them and finally say: “You’re coming home with me.”

Five hearts that are still waiting for the same ending. 💔You know what to do. Adopt. Foster. Share. Help their person find them. They are at Puppykittynycity

Everyone wants a kitten. Nobody waits for a cat. They're gone before the paperwork's even printed, scooped up in minutes...
09/14/2026

Everyone wants a kitten. Nobody waits for a cat. They're gone before the paperwork's even printed, scooped up in minutes, fought over like treasure. Muneca has been here a full day, watching person after person choose someone else. Even the kittens. It makes you sad, wondering why it is this way when there are a sea of cats.

Her name means "doll" in Spanish. And she is one, a soft, sweet 6-year-old tabby mix with gentle eyes that still hold hope, even now. On the very edge of her senior years. She should be curled up on a windowsill somewhere, watching the leaves change color, purring into a warm lap she's known for years.

Instead, she's here. Confused. Waiting.

She doesn't understand why the hands that used to feed her are gone. She doesn't understand why the voice that used to call her name has faded into silence. She just sits, pressed against the glass, watching strangers walk by, hoping one of them will stop. Hoping one of them will see her. Hoping one of them will choose her.

Her owner loved her. That's the part that shatters you. She loved her so much she cried when she surrendered her, whispered apologies into her fur, and walked away because life gave her no other choice. It happens. It's not anyone's fault. But Muneca doesn't understand that. All she knows is that the person she loved is gone, and no one has come to take her place.

The clinic found out she has hyperthyroidism. It's manageable and it's treatable. A simple daily pill or a special diet, and she can live a long, happy life. But people see the word and stop reading. They see "senior" and "medical needs" and they move on. They don't see the cat who purrs the second you touch her. They don't see the cat who was clearly cherished. They don't see her.

They mentioned that there's a chance, that maybe she could develop fractures later in life. A shadow that makes people hesitate. They want guarantees. They want perfect. They want a kitten who will live forever. And so, a cat who would normally be adopted in minutes sits here for a full day, watching families fall in love with other cats. Watching kittens get scooped up like hotcakes. Watching the door, hoping the next person who walks through it will finally be the one who stays.

She is sweet. She is kind. She was loved. And she is running out of time.

Fall is about to start. The season of cozy sweaters, warm blankets, and furry friends curled up by your side. The season of quiet moments and soft purrs. It's a season for new beginnings. Let's give Muneca hers.

Let's show New York City that love will win the day. Let's prove that a senior cat with a manageable condition is not a burden, she's a blessing. Let's find the one person, the one family, who sees past the medical notes and sees the beautiful, deserving soul underneath.

Muneca is waiting. She's been waiting. Don't let her become another sad statistic. Be the one who stops. Be the one who sees her. Be the one who chooses her.

Together, we can get her home before the first leaf falls. She is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

The average person spends 7 seconds looking at a shelter cat. Tomothay Chalaman was loved for 13 years, and now he has 7...
09/14/2026

The average person spends 7 seconds looking at a shelter cat. Tomothay Chalaman was loved for 13 years, and now he has 7 seconds to convince you that he is worthy of your love.

His name is Tomothay Chalaman. For thirteen years, he purred on laps that promised to keep him forever. He trusted. He belonged. He was home. He didn't know it was temporary.

Then, in a single, devastating moment, it was all gone. His family, the only people he had ever known, was displaced. Through no fault of his own, his world collapsed, and he was left at a shelter, his entire life packed into a single, confusing transition. Now, he sits in a cold kennel, his soulful eyes filled with a question he can't ask: What did I do wrong?

All he wants, all he has ever known is to feel loved. It's why he leans into anyone who passes by, hoping for a single touch. He presses his head against the bars of his cage, a silent plea for the affection he's been starved of. But the hands he craves rarely stop. People walk past, their eyes glancing at the kennel card and seeing only one thing: 13.

They don't see the loyal companion who greeted his family at the door every day. They don't see the gentle soul who spent his life purring on a warm lap. They don't see the broken heart of a senior cat who was cast aside, not for being bad, but for the crime of growing old.

When they see his age, they don't see his story. They see a number, a burden, a heart they're afraid to break. They don't realize his heart is already breaking a little more with every person who walks away.

He is a senior in a world that has forgotten its elders. He is a ghost in a kennel, a memory of a love he can't let go of.

But we are his voice. We, his besties, have the power to change this story. We have the power to make his kennel card not a countdown, but a new beginning. We have defied the odds before, saving lives and mending hearts. This is our chance to do it again.

Please, share Tomothay's story. Let his face be seen. Let his gentle spirit be felt. Help us find the one person, the one family, who will see his age not as a flaw, but as a testament to a lifetime of love he has yet to give.

Let's not let him spend one more night wondering what he did wrong. Let's show him he has done everything right. Let's give him back the only thing he's ever wanted: a place to call home, and someone to love him until his very last purr.

He has 7 seconds. Please don't scroll past him. He is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

He doesn't meow anymore when people pass by. He used to. But after months of being overlooked, he has learned that hope ...
09/13/2026

He doesn't meow anymore when people pass by. He used to. But after months of being overlooked, he has learned that hope hurts too much.

💔 Everyone walks past Mr. Grey. Will you be the one to finally stop?

Meet Mr. Grey.

To the casual passerby at the shelter, he is just a four-year-old cat with a coat the color of a stormy sky. But to those of us who know him, Mr. Grey is a testament to loyalty, a victim of circumstance, and a soul who is slowly losing hope with every passing day.

Mr. Grey's story didn't begin with abandonment; it began with a love that simply became too heavy to carry. Back in January, this sweet boy found himself at the shelter because his owner was getting older. It is a heartbreaking reality of rescue, an elderly human who loved their companion deeply but could no longer physically provide the care he deserved. Imagine the confusion Mr. Grey felt. One day he was in his home, and the next, he was in a loud, scary place, wondering where his person went.

He was lucky enough to go into foster care for a while a brief respite from the chaos. But a foster home is not forever. It is a bridge, not a destination. And now, Mr. Grey is back.

He is back in the shelter system, and my heart shatters for him. The shelter is no place for a gentle soul like Mr. Grey. It is a place of constant, jarring noise the relentless meowing of stressed cats and the faint, echoing barking of dogs in the distance. For a cat who just wants peace and a lap to curl up on, this environment is overwhelming. It is a sensory nightmare that keeps him on edge.

And yet, the hardest part to witness is the invisibility.

People walk by his kennel every single day. They are looking for the tiny kittens, the ones with the squeaky meows and the clumsy paws. They want the babies. They don't stop to look at the 4-year-old gentleman who sits quietly in the back of his cubby, his big eyes following them, just hoping that someone will see him. He isn't a kitten anymore, but he has so much life and love left to give. He has been waiting since January. That is months of his life spent waiting in limbo.

But here is what you are missing when you walk past Mr. Grey: You are missing a hidden gem.

His foster family will tell you that behind those sad eyes is a playful, loyal companion. He has potential that is just waiting to bloom in a stable home. He is past the destructive kitten phase but still young enough to play and enjoy life. He is ready to be someone's best friend, their shadow, their loyal confidant.

We are begging you to help us end his long wait. We need to get him seen. We need to get him heard. We need to show New York City that Mr. Grey exists and that he matters.

He is currently at the shelter in Queens. He is healthy, he is ready, and he is waiting.

Please, don't let Mr. Grey fade into the background of a noisy shelter. If you have room in your home and your heart for a cat who will appreciate you forever, please consider adopting Mr. Grey. Or, if you can't adopt, please share this post. You never know whose feed this might land on the feed of the person who is meant to be his "forever" human.

Let's get Mr. Grey out of the noise and into a home. Let's write a happy ending to a story that started with heartbreak.

📍 Location: Queens ACC
🐾 Name: Mr. Grey
🎂 Age: 4 Years Old
❤️ Status: Available for Adoption

Please share, tag, and comment to help Mr. Grey find his miracle. He deserves to know that a foster home wasn't the end of his story, it was just a chapter before the best part. He is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

106 days. That's how long Casa has been waiting for someone to choose him. And he's starting to believe no one ever will...
09/12/2026

106 days. That's how long Casa has been waiting for someone to choose him. And he's starting to believe no one ever will.

106 days. 2,544 hours. 152,640 minutes. 9,158,400 seconds of silence. Of confusion. Of watching strangers walk past his kennel like he doesn't exist. Looking through him as if he were made of glass instead of flesh and blood. Instead of a heart that still beats. Instead of a soul that still hopes barely.

Meet Casa. He is a 7-year-old grey and white cat who arrived at the shelter as a stray. He likely had a home once. He likely knew the feeling of a warm lap, a gentle hand, a voice that said his name with love. But now, he sits in a cold cage, wondering where his world went wrong. Wondering what he did to deserve this. Wondering why no one wants him.

Casa is a senior, and sadly, the clinic recently discovered he has a heart murmur. But I'm here to tell you that his heart isn't the problem. His heart is still full of love, desperate to be given. The real issue is that his spirit is breaking. And that kind of heartbreak doesn't show up on an x-ray.

Casa is not a fan of the shelter. Can you blame him? The noise, the smells, the constant uncertainty, it's overwhelming. Because of this, he has started to shut down. He retreats to the back of his cage. He makes himself small. He avoids eye contact. He is fading away right before our eyes, not because he is sick, but because he is heartbroken. Not because he is broken, but because he has been forgotten.

People keep passing him by. They want the kittens. They want the playful ones. They want the ones who reach through the bars and beg for attention. They don't stop to see the quiet dignity of a senior cat who just needs a soft place to land. They don't realize that Casa doesn't know why he is invisible. He doesn't understand why no one chooses him. He just knows that they don't. And that confusion is slowly killing his spirit. That rejection, repeated 106 times over, is teaching him that he is not worth stopping for.

He used to perk up when he heard footsteps. Now he doesn't even lift his head. He's learned that hoping hurts too much. He's learned that people always leave. He's learned that love is something that happens to other cats, not to him.

While the volunteers and staff spend time with him, talking to him softly and petting him gently, we know the truth: that is just borrowed love. It's a temporary bandage on a wound that needs to heal. We can only give him a few minutes of comfort before we have to walk away and leave him behind again. He deserves more than borrowed love. He deserves true love. He deserves a home where the clock stops ticking and the waiting finally ends. He deserves someone who stays.

He doesn't need much. He just needs someone to look past the grey and white fur and see the loyal companion waiting inside. He needs a quiet home, a patient human, and a promise that he will never be a stray again. He needs someone to say, "I choose you, Casa. I see you. You matter."

Together, we can get him home. Let's show NYC that Casa exists. Let's prove to him that his life matters. If you can't adopt, please share. You never know whose heart you might touch, or whose home you might find for a cat who has waited 9,158,400 seconds too long.

He's not asking for a miracle. He's asking for a chance. One chance. One person. One home. That's all it takes to change his entire world.

You know what to do. Let's save Casa. Let's show him that love is real and that it's finally his turn. He is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)❤️

Nineteen days. That's how long Spencer has been waiting. Nineteen days of watching strangers pass him by. Nineteen days ...
09/10/2026

Nineteen days. That's how long Spencer has been waiting. Nineteen days of watching strangers pass him by. Nineteen days of meowing into the void, hoping someone anyone, will finally stop. 💔

Meet Spencer. 🧡

He's only two years old. Still so young. Still so full of life, so full of warmth, so full of everything a cat should be. A stunning white tabby mix with soft paws, gentle eyes, and a heart that has somehow stayed tender despite everything it's been through.

Spencer arrived at the shelter with two other cats. He was surrendered. The volunteers told me he was no longer wanted. Just like that. A living, breathing soul, handed over like an old piece of furniture. We don't know the details. Maybe life got complicated. Maybe money got tight. Maybe someone simply grew tired of him. But here's what keeps me awake at night: the reason doesn't matter. Not to Spencer. Because whatever the explanation, he is now homeless. And he has absolutely no idea why.

That's what people forget about animals like him. They don't understand surrender. They don't understand applications or phone calls or "we just can't keep him." All they know is that one morning, their favorite person was there and by evening, they were gone. No goodbye. No explanation. Just an empty room and a confused heart.

And Spencer? Spencer has only ever known love. That's all he's ever offered the world. He's friendly. He's gentle. He plays with whatever toy you dangle in front of him. He meows,that soft, hopeful little meow just to catch your eye. Just to say I'm still here. I'm still waiting. Won't you look at me?

Because for nineteen agonizing days, people have looked right through him.

Nineteen days.

They gather around the kittens. They squeal at the tiny ones. They scoop up the babies and carry them out the door, and Spencer watches every single departure. He sees families choose someone else. He sees couples point and laugh and decide and never once decide on him.

He presses his little white nose against the glass. He calls out. He does everything he possibly knows how to do. And still they keep walking.

The volunteers told me his spirit is slowly dimming. And you can see it. In the way his cries come a little softer some afternoons. In the way he still lifts his head at every footstep — because he refuses to give up. Not completely.

He's still hopeful. Still believing. Still convinced that maybe today is the day. Maybe the next pair of shoes will stop. Maybe the next face will be the one.

That kind of optimism in a heart that's been discarded? That's what destroys me.

And now the world is changing around him. The leaves are shifting from green to gold. The air is getting crisp. Mid-September is practically here. Fall is arriving, cozy evenings, warm blankets, spooky season, all of it. And Spencer will still be in that kennel. Alone. Watching the season he deserves to spend curled up on someone's couch pass him by.

There's nothing scarier than a good boy spending autumn by himself.

So I'm asking. Pleading, honestly.

Will you give him a home? 🏡

Could you be the one who finally halts? The one who truly sees him and says let's get out of here? Spencer has so much affection left to share. He just needs a person to share it with.

And if adoption isn't possible for you, I understand. But please, share his story. One share. One comment. One tag. That's all it takes. Because somewhere out there, Spencer's human exists. They just haven't found him yet.

The leaves are falling. The calendar is turning. Let's get Spencer home before the seasons change without him.

You know what to do. Let's fight for him. 🧡he is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

Twenty-five years later, most of them are gone now. 💔🐾They never understood what happened on September 11, 2001.They did...
09/10/2026

Twenty-five years later, most of them are gone now. 💔🐾

They never understood what happened on September 11, 2001.

They didn’t understand terrorism. They didn’t understand why the buildings fell, why the air was filled with smoke, or why so many people were crying.

They only knew there was work to do.

So they climbed onto mountains of twisted steel and broken concrete. They searched places humans could barely reach. They followed the faintest scent hoping someone was still alive beneath the rubble.

One guided his blind handler down 78 floors of the World Trade Center.

Another kept searching even after burning debris caught his fur on fire.

Another helped find the last survivor pulled alive from Ground Zero.

Others searched for those who would never make it home.

And when there was no one left to find, some simply sat beside exhausted firefighters, police officers, rescue workers and grieving families, offering the one thing they could still give:

Comfort.

They didn’t ask why.

They didn’t ask how dangerous it was.

They just went.

Many of these dogs eventually grew old, retired, and crossed the rainbow bridge. Today, their harnesses are empty. Their paw prints have long since faded from Ground Zero.

But what they did that day never will.

Apollo. Bretagne. Roselle. Trakr. Sage. Sirius. And hundreds more whose names most of us will never know.

They were there on one of America’s darkest days.

And 25 years later, they still deserve to be remembered.

For the heroes who walked on two legs, and the heroes who walked on four. 🇺🇸🐾

We will never forget.

Swipe through and remember their names with us. ❤️

A 15-year-old cat is sitting in a kennel right now, confused and sick with a disease he doesn't even know he has, wonder...
09/10/2026

A 15-year-old cat is sitting in a kennel right now, confused and sick with a disease he doesn't even know he has, wondering why the family he loved never came looking for him. They never did. And unless someone steps up, neither may anyone else.

His name is Toby Street.

He was found roaming the hallway of an apartment building. No collar. No owner. No family in sight. Just an old black-and-white cat with tired eyes, wandering from door to door as if he were retracing the steps of a life that had somehow slipped away from him.

No one claimed him. No one came. So Toby was brought to the Manhattan ACC, through no fault of his own, with no voice in the matter, and no way to understand why the only life he knew suddenly disappeared.

He doesn't understand the cold kennel, the strange smells, or the endless crying of other animals who are just as scared as he is.

And then came the news that broke our hearts: Toby has Diabetes Mellitus.

His age and diagnosis make him one of the hardest cats to place, one of the first to be overlooked and one of the easiest to forget.

But despite everything, Toby is kind.

He loves the staff. He leans into the volunteers. He purrs. He headbutts. He is gentle. He is trusting. This is a cat who clearly knows what human affection feels like. Somewhere along the way, Toby was somebody's companion.

We don't know his story. We can't answer the questions that hurt the most. How did he end up in that hallway? How long did he wander, hoping someone would open the right door? How does a 15-year-old cat with such a gentle soul end up with no one at all?

We can't fix the past. But we can change what happens next.

Toby needs out.

He has already been waiting a week, seven long days in a system that was never meant to be his home. He needs a family. He needs a rescue. He needs someone willing to manage his diabetes with love and consistency, someone who will see past the diagnosis and his age and recognize the loyal, tender heart underneath.

He is depending on us now. If we don't speak his name and share his story, Toby could remain just another senior cat sitting quietly behind a kennel door while people walk past.

Toby Street is 15 years old. He is sick, but he doesn't understand it. He is homeless, but he doesn't understand why. He is kind. He is affectionate. And he is still waiting.

Please share his story. Ask about him. Foster him. Adopt him. Rescue him.

Be the answer to the question that has followed him since that lonely hallway:

"Is there anyone out there who will choose me?"

Let's make sure the answer is yes.

Toby Street is at Manhattan Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC). Please help him get seen. Please help him get out.

He doesn't purr anymore. Not because he can't because he forgot what it's for. His name is Bionica. He is one year and s...
09/10/2026

He doesn't purr anymore. Not because he can't because he forgot what it's for. His name is Bionica. He is one year and six months old. And no one has said his name out loud in 35 days.

He came in during the summer.

It was August. The city was baking. Sidewalks sizzled. People fanned themselves with takeout menus and ducked into air-conditioned lobbies. And somewhere out there, on a hot asphalt street, a grey-and-white cat with no name was surviving on fumes and fear.

A Good Samaritan found him. They saw him first a small, dusty shape pressed against a building wall, too tired to run. They knelt down. He didn't hiss. He just blinked slow, like he'd given up on running a long time ago.

They scooped him up like he was made of glass. They gave him water. They gave him food. They gave him a name, Bionica and for one beautiful, fleeting moment, they gave him home.

But here's the thing they already knew: they were allergic.

They knew it the second they touched him. They felt the itch creeping up their arms. They felt their throat tighten. They knew deep down, they knew they couldn't keep him. But they couldn't just walk away either. Not from those eyes. Not from that tiny, trembling body that had been through so much.

So they loved him anyway. Fully. Fiercely. Knowing it would break their heart. They held him at night and whispered "I'm sorry" into his fur while their eyes swelled shut and their skin burned with welts. Allergy shots? In this economy? That's a luxury most of us can't even afford to think about. So with trembling hands and a shattered heart, they did the only thing they could: they brought him to the shelter, praying someone else would finish what they started.

Bionica doesn't know that. He only knows that one day, the warm arms vanished. The smell of their house, their couch, their heartbeat under his ear gone. Replaced by stainless steel, fluorescent lights, and the endless echo of barking dogs and mewing kittens.

He is timid. He is reserved. He doesn't act out. He doesn't scratch or yowl. He just presses himself into the farthest corner of his kennel, grey-and-white fur blending into the shadows, making himself smaller so he doesn't take up too much space because somewhere along the way, he learned that taking up space means getting hurt.

The shelter is warm. It is safe. It has food and water and a soft bed.
But cats like Bionica don't understand safe. They understand home. And this is not home.

Thirty-five days. Five weeks of summer slipping through the bars of his cage. Five weeks of watching families walk past stopping for the orange kitten, the black kitten, the one who does flips for attention. Meanwhile, Bionica sits still and quiet, because that's all he knows how to do. He doesn't know how to beg. He doesn't know how to perform. He only knows how to wait.

And no one has waited with him.

No one has reached in and scratched behind his ears. Only staff and volunteers have whispered his name. No one has looked into those eyes and said, "You're coming home with me."

Not once. Not in 35 days. Summer is ending. You can feel it in the morning air that first crisp bite that says fall is coming. Soon the leaves will turn. Soon the holidays will creep in. Soon the world will curl up in sweaters and blankets and togetherness. And Bionica will still be here, in his cage, grey fur losing its luster, green eyes growing dimmer, hope leaking out of him like a slow, quiet leak no one notices.

He doesn't know it's almost autumn. He doesn't know what he's missing.
But we do.

We can't all adopt. We can't all foster.
But we can all share. We can all be the voice he doesn't have. We can make sure that on day 36, someone sees that grey-and-white ghost in the corner. Someone stops. Someone falls in love with that shy, gentle soul who just needs patience, time, and a hand that doesn't pull away.

Let's end this wait.
Let's get him home before the first leaf falls.
Before he spends another night wondering if he even exists.

NYC, you know what to do.

Share. Tag. Post. Tell a friend. Tell a stranger.
Let's make Bionica's 36th day his last day without a family.

He's right there. Grey and white. Quiet. Waiting.
He doesn't purr anymore.
But with you he might remember how. He is at Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC)

Somewhere, kittens are chasing sunbeams. Bruno is just trying to breathe.Let that sink in for a moment.He is six weeks o...
09/09/2026

Somewhere, kittens are chasing sunbeams. Bruno is just trying to breathe.

Let that sink in for a moment.

He is six weeks old. Six tiny weeks of life, and every single one of them has been a battle. He should be tumbling over his siblings, pouncing on dust motes, and falling asleep in warm, tangled piles of fur. He should be learning what it means to be safe, to be loved, to be wanted.

Instead, Bruno is alone.

He came in as a stray off the harsh, hot streets of New York City. How he survived without a mother or siblings is a mystery that breaks the heart to consider. Perhaps he cried for them. Perhaps he searched until his tiny paws ached and his voice gave out. Perhaps he is still searching, even now, for a face that will never come.

The streets have already left their mark on him. He has a ruptured eye a constant, searing pain he cannot understand. He has a severe upper respiratory infection, so heavy in his little chest that every breath is a struggle. His other eye is clouded with conjunctivitis, making the world a blurry, frightening place. He is sick. He is suffering. And he is doing it all alone.

And the cruelest twist? His condition is treatable. This small, broken soul doesn't need a miracle. He just needs monitoring and medical care. He needs someone to look past the injured eye and the labored breathing and see the tiny, fighting heartbeat that has refused to give up.

But the rescues that would normally swoop in to save him are at their absolute capacity. Pulling one more kitten right now would be a devastating blow to their already stretched-thin resources. The heroes who usually step up are themselves overwhelmed, with foster homes full and their own cats to care for. They are watching Bruno with heavy hearts, praying for a solution, but their hands are tied.

Time is a luxury Bruno does not have. The infection in his eye cannot wait. His struggling breath is a ticking clock. And the shelter, as hard as it tries, is no place for a six-week-old baby with a failing immune system.

He has been waiting for four days now.

Four long days in a loud, scary place, sick and in pain, without a single soul to claim him. Four days of watching people walk past his kennel. Four days of hoping that today might be the day someone stops.

Today can be that day.

If you know a rescue even one that is full please reach out. Let them know about Bruno. Sometimes, one look at a face like his can make room where there was none before. Sometimes, compassion expands to meet the need.

You know what to do. Share his face. Speak his name. He is at the Queens Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC).

Let's end his wait. Let's give him a reason to chase sunbeams too.

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