Perhaps only the third.
We had a cat name Truman (Truman Catpootie, after another small, big-mouthed fellow of dubious sexuality) who had several "loves" that we found odd. When we brought home groceries, he'd love to get in the plastic bags. He would lie in one until we picked it up by the handles and started tickling him. He'd thrash around until his legs, one by one, would break through the bag. He'd keep it up until the bag failed and he'd drop to the floor. Then he'd go to the next bag.
And he liked brooms, too. After our first cat, who had been terrified of brooms, we found this a little odd. But if you started sweeping, he'd be there in a few seconds to "help" by attacking the broom. We would end up pushing him all over the kitchen with the broom, like a furry quoit, and he'd always come back for more.
And I probably shouldn't even mention that when we'd buy new blue jeans, he would hear us pulling the sticky tags off them and come running. He would rub up against us until we'd stick one of those tags on him. Then he'd dance around getting it off. When he got it off, he'd wait for us to put it back on him, until the sticker was so fur-covered it wouldn't stick any more.
Sadly, Truman died at about 6 years old, possibly due to a fall while we were out of the house, or possibly due to a stroke, but it left one leg paralyzed and he went downhill from there.
I won't start with our first cat, who loved chocolate chip cookies (the cookie, not the chips), and always wanted to lick the sweat off our Coke cans.