Out of my dreams

I dreamed about my father again last night. We were fighting, which is typical for us in my dreams, this time about something he’d done to an animal I’d found on the side of the road. It was the size of a mouse and mostly was a mouse, except that it was partly a monkey and it seemed rather sad. It also seemed too fragile to carry in my hand, so I prodded it into a ginger jar and took it home where I let it crawl out onto the dining room table.

It was very slow moving at first, but perked up once it was outside the jar. Its coordination improved, too, and I sensed that it was taking an interest in its surroundings.

That’s when my father started teasing it with a flashlight beam, making it chase a spot of light across the floor. Faster and faster he moved the spot and faster and faster the chase became until the mouse or the monkey or whatever it was slammed headlong into a baseboard at the foot of a wall.

It rolled over onto its side, holding its head between its paws the way a person with a terrible headache would do and I knew that it was dying. I also knew that my father had meant for this to happen and that he thought it was funny.

So I slapped him, anticipating a full-on brawl, but feeling too weak to follow through. I woke up in an impotent rage.

I’m usually pretty good at interpreting my dreams, but this one has me flummoxed. No connection to anything I’ve thought or done recently, not that I can remember.
Or am I overlooking something?