trip to laundromat

A new project for the afternoon has announced itself in the form of cat puke on the bedspread. Though Sammy staggered home from his wild morning of partying with the neighboorhood felines only an hour ago, it was plenty of time to eat kibble, hurl, then curl up innocently on the paper stacked (all right, strewn) on the kitchen table. By the time I discovered the, um, offering, it had soaked through quilt, sheets and mattress pad. The moldy mattress below is just damp with recalled kitty digestive juices. I am disgusted.
Why do we keep feeding this cat? Letting him in? Why? Why?