Babe and I are professional subletters. We come in, watch your pad, love it up, and leave it when you want it back. It's how we do. We sublet the last place from the last guy for two years, and are now onto a new sublet situation.
We're not the type of subletters who sublet furnished apartments, no. We come with our own stuff. Of course, as landlord, it is your prerogative to leave a few things behind. Our last landlord basically ran out of the apartment with the last of his stuff trailing behind him. He left us: coffee table books about NYC (awesome), his shower curtain (totally gross), and the biggest piece of furniture ever known to humankind - the wardrobe that the chronicles of Narnia were based on. That we used to store every DVD, CD, game, party paraphanelia, general paraphanelia, and other entertainment goods we have ever owned. We also climbed in occasionally to hang out with Mr. Tumnus. But that is neither here nor there.
This new landlord left the apartment clean and spotless, but did leave us: an acoustic guitar on a guitar stand, a most random piece of pottery that I can't figure out exactly what to do with, some socks, and a tupperware full of coffee grounds in the fridge. He's kind of a gardener type, so, as Babe and I were enjoying our beers sitting outside at the Speakeasy after moving in all day, he asked, "Hey, Babe? Is that dirt in the fridge? That MD left us? In that plastic thing?" It's not, Babe. It's just coffee.
That I'm going to drink out of a vase while playing my guitar wearing MD's old socks.