I just now remembered how the most psychotic cat I ever lived with - "Psyche" - used to scoop an old, petrified piece of poop out of his sandbox and use it as a hockey puck, slapping it around the floor and throwing it up in the air. It didn't matter how many REAL cat toys I brought him - he always went back to his piece of poop.
My wife had an Avon lady over at the house one day. They were sitting on the sofa chatting, and Psyche came flying in chasing his terd-toy. The Avon lady bent over, picked it up and said "Oh, here you go, sweetie - do you want to play catch?"
Luckily I was in the kitchen, so when I spewed out my coffee there was minimal clean-up involved ...