Roedd Jeff y gath wedi aros sawl dydd am rif ffon plymwr. Hi oedd wedi anfon y llythyr olaf wrth y Corinthiaid; er bod sied Dewi Sant yn drewi ar ôl ymweliad yr esgob a’i goludd, roedd Dewi wedi meddwi’n ormod i sylwi.
Daeth panasen Kafka draw.
– Alla i helpu? gofynodd y panasen. – Plymwr dw i.
– Os ti’n blymwr, yna ffermwr dw i, meddai Jeff, mewn anghrediniaeth.
– Gwylia hwn, meddai’r panasen, a aeth i fewn i’r sied.
Ar ôl munud, roedd yna ffrwydriad enfawr, a dilynwyd gan sŵn arswydol o fwrlwmu. Ailymddangododd y panasen.
– Wel? Ti ‘di gorffen? gofynnodd Jeff.
– Nadw, o’n i jyst yn ymolchi’n nwylo, atebodd y panasen. – Bydd rhaid i ti gysylltu â’r cwmni yswyriant.
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Saesneg / English
Plumbing
Jeff the cat had waited several days for a plumber’s phone number. It was she who had sent the last letter to the Corinthians; although Saint David’s shed stank after the visit of the bishop and his bowels, Saint David was too drunk to notice.
Kafka’s parsnip came over.
– Can I help? asked the parsnip. – I’m a plumber.
– If you’re a plumber, I’m a farmer, said Jeff in disbelief.
– Watch this, said the parsnip, and went into the shed.
After a minute there was an enormous explosion, followed by a horrific sound of gurgling. The parsnip reappeared.
– Well? You finished? asked Jeff.
– Nah, I was just washing my hands, answered the parsnip. – You’ll have to contact the insurance company.
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