In this dream not much happened, but it was disturbing conceptually and visually.
My cat seemed normal, but I could tell that he was an empty shell filled with an enormous, vicious-looking fish. I would open a flap to try to remove the fish, but couldn’t bring myself to touch it. It couldn’t be left there, either, because it was evil. I wasn’t sure that anything was left of the cat. It was too late.
My mother and I were in the city, a place where I’d never seen her. I observed myself as a giant parade balloon against the night sky. I let go of my mother’s string, and she floated high into the air. Soon she crashed into the spot from which I had released her. I felt horrible as she was injured and in pain—but I must have known this would happen when I let go. She tried to tell me the complicated way in which she’d been repaired up there, but this made no sense to me as she’d been hurt on landing, not on rising. My head swam.
I felt forlorn and terrible, although I thought I should feel light and free.