Her name was “Oomi”. She lived on the streets and dressed like a boy.

Her story was the story of good kids from bad families.  She would tell you that the streets are not a nice place to live. Hustlers, whores, hoodlums prey on little creatures like Oomi.

They eat them.

Oomi had managed to survive for over a year on the street.

She didn’t have to prostitute.

Or steal … much.

And somehow, despite the ugly grit that passed for life on the streets, she retained her good soul. Maybe it was not doing drugs.

Maybe it was the few people who befriended Oomi.

Mrs. Shemanski, the nice lady in the little grocery store, who gave her stuff. Curt the tattooed bartender who gave her cigarettes. “Salvation Sunshine Palace” helped out. Or more accurately the Downtown Salvation Army Mission took her in from time to time.

Oomi tagged the place “Salvation Sunshine Palace”.  

We liked Oomi’s name better.

After one year, two months and sixteen days Oomi has left the streets.

Did I mention she loved animals.

Especially cats.

She fed several.

She never made them pets though.

Oomi believed that cats, like people on streets, need to be a little bit feral for their own safety.

All except one that is.

Some cats, like some people, are sweet too deep to be feral.

Oomi left the streets yesterday.

She was hit by a city truck.

We have sweet gentle kitten for someone to adopt.