I heard the sound and startled, which spooked Moby - he moved to another spot on the carpet to keep horking up the chicken. D was already up, so I called to him, being myself asleep in all but a tiny part. It took a while to locate the various cleaning necessaries, including the vacuum, since vomited chicken really can't just be left til later, and getting myself up to at least half awake. It's five AM. As far as we can tell, Moby is not in more than mild distress. We return to bed, try to catch a little sleep, hear crunching of dry food, then more feline hork. We get up, clean up a much smaller spot, thank Moby for (as far as we know) always doing this out in easy to find spots.
D gave up the idea of any more sleep, showered, dressed, and walked over to the grocery store in search of wheat grass. Oh, and realized he needed milk as well, but that could've waited. When D got back, it took Moby a minute to realize, but he strained to psychically hurry D's bringing the grass to him. Much happy munching ensued, and he seems much calmer and more comfortable now, as much as one can really tell with a cat.
He's sitting next to D, under his hand, staying close.