My satchel hit the ground, my keys following only seconds later. Several other pieces of mail followed. I stared at my May electric bill, jaw flapping listlessly in the breeze. 

An electric bill for almost $200?! In an apartment where the prior month's bill had been $64?! Something was really, really wrong. 

Rushing to the phone, I called the Light Company, fully expecting war. A really nice operator explained that yes, it did seem rather extravagant, and that they'd send another meter-reader right over to see if maybe it had been misread. 

I got a call back two days later. The nice lady informed me that there had been no mis-read, despite my contention that for almost the entire month of April, my central air conditioner had been OFF. How much power can one refrigerator and one itty-bitty home computer suck up? 

Perhaps, she said, other residents in my apartment were using exorbitant amounts of power when I wasn't around. 

Now, mind you, the only other residents in my apartments are my chihuahuas, Rusty and Smedley. Couldn't be, I insisted. I prepared to file for bankruptcy. 

Glumly, I set about putting the next edition out that Tuesday morning. Shortly before midday, I realized I'd left an important notebook with some key quotes sitting on my kitchen table. I rushed home. 

I knew something was up the minute I pulled into the parking lot at my normally-quiet apartment complex. Somebody was getting down big-time. I could hear the "whoomphs" and "booms" blocks away. 

I started to head for the manager's office to file a complaint, but saw one of my neighbors storming angrily in that direction already. "You headed to see Scott?," I called out. 

He nodded. "Good deal! We don't need people like that around here!" I called out. 

I turned the corner of the building housing my humble abode, where the sound seemed to be even louder. Someone who lived very near me, then. Well, I'd get in a few verbal jabs after I grabbed my notebook. 

Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw the windows to my apartment thrown open. And that noise coming out of MY apartment. 

What the ...? I charged to the door, ready to do battle with whoever it was had broken in, and threw the door open. 

My little boombox, which never before had the volume above the "3" level, was cranked up to "47," and K.C. and the Sunshine Band were singing "Do a little dance/Make a little love/Get down to-night!" 

Even with the windows wide open, the air-conditioner was running full blast. Must've been 20 degrees in there. 

The Labrador from across the street fell out of my wicker chair beside the door and hung his head out the window to throw up. Two or three half-dressed poodles from the little shop around the corner were dancing on my coffee table. This big red bulldog, a German Shepherd, a Doberman, a Spaniel and a Beagle had a game of poker going at the kitchen table. 

I heard the microwave go "ding!" and saw this Basset hound pull out a plate of barbecued Kibbles N Bits.The refrigerator stood wide open. Dog dishes half-full of beer (Red Dog, of course) were all over the place. The television was rolling "Old Yeller" on video. I glanced into the computer room to see a Daschund surfing the Net, downloading pictures of scantily-clad Pekingese. 

In the back bedroom I finally found Rusty and Smedley, wearing the black leather motorcycle jackets I'd bought for them last Christmas and chasing a handful of Rat Terriers around and around the room with the vaccuum cleaner. 

About that time my apartment manager, Scott, stepped up behind me. He, too, looked around in wonderment. 

"Geez, who'd have believed?" he said. "By the way, Dave, your rent check bounced. The bank said someone's been writing lots of checks on your account lately.