Oligarch cat (an old veterinarian's story)

Once upon a time a very wealthy couple came to me. They just don’t come from the street. Prior to the call was from my senior supervisor, that, say, very important and necessary people will bring the cat for examination and treatment. And, say, you have to take it properly.
Well, they came, get out of a portable cage of fattened and lazy cat, and on the table they put the history of the disease of three centimeters thick. He heard the long and excited story of the hostess that the cat has lost interest in life and all that... Meanwhile, the cat lives in his own apartments, the size of my apartment, he has his own servant, and needs in nothing knows. They hit the alarm. When he began to give up the pastels from the goat’s liver.
I immediately pushed the history of illness aside, and whispered to the owner that he would send his wife out of the office. When he asked his husband to bring something from the car, he advised him to send her for three or four weeks to some Caribbean. During this time, the animal can be healed.
Will call soon. He reports that his wife has fled, and he is ready to bring a cat.
“The cat,” I replied, “is not necessary. Come by yourself.”
He comes. I explain to him that the cat should not be fed for a week at all. Only water to infuse. Then buy a piece of six laboratory mice (the bird was still in Moscow in the old place), put it in a cage in his room, and when he shows interest, open the cage.
A couple of weeks later, she calls and reports that the cat has recovered completely. He runs around apartments, catches mice, plays, demands a cat.
Two months later, I accidentally found out that the hostess who had returned from the islands had the harassment of her pet, and she had divorced her husband.