In case anyone wondered, the 24-hour emergency animal clinic is not, in fact, the most cheerful place to ring in the New Year. This afternoon, Dewey started throwing up periodically for no apparently reason. The first two times, I thought "Okay, he's a cat, it happens." After the third time, I started to get worried, so I called the clinic to get their advice. They told me to take his food away for a few hours, but to bring him in if he did it again. He did. So off we went at 9:45 tonight. After a brief wait, during which I called my parents to play the "Hey, guess which ER we're in now, Mom?" game, $200 of tests and exams concluded that Dewey appears to be in perfect health. But really, it was worth every penny to get the scary stuff ruled out. He got an anti-nausea shot, and has been okay since, so... we'll see. No food until tomorrow. And now we have a CD of nifty pictures of Dewey's insides!
So anyway, we got home around 11:45, and I just managed to turn on Dick Clark, change back into my pajamas (I'd put on jeans to go to the clinic), and make some adult hot chocolate before midnight. My throat still hurts too much for champagne or really any alcoholic beverage that isn't based in warm milk. So I managed to see the ball drop, and Robot Dick Clark try to speak. Depressing, really. Ah well.