– Daf, Daf, dere ‘ma, meddai Jeff y gath un diwrnod.
– Be ti isie? gofynnodd Daf y gath.
– Dwi ‘di creu gwacter draw fan ‘na rhywsut.
Amneidiodd Jeff ar wely llysiau Franz Kafka, lle’r oedd gwacter o anobaith rhwng dau blanhigion wedi marw. Roedd y gwacter yn un du, dychrynllyd.
– Shwt nath hynny ddigwydd? gofynnodd Daf, heb ddiddordeb.
– Rhywsut, atebodd Jeff, yn ddiniwed.
– T’mod beth, gad i ni roi’r stori hwn yn y gwacter a rhoi’r ffidil yn y tô, meddai Daf.
– Beth am i ni roi’r ffidil yn y gwacter, a rhoi’r stori hwn yn y tô yn ei le?
– Sdim ffidil ‘da ti.
– Iawn, meddai Jeff, a bant â hi i chwilio am fwyd.
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Saesneg / English
The Void
– Dave, Dave, come here, said Jeff the cat one day.
– What d’you want? asked Dave the cat.
– I’ve created a void over there somehow.
Jeff indicated Franz Kafka’s vegetable bed, where there was a void of despair between two dead plants. The void was a black and terrifying one.
– How did that happen? asked Dave, without interest.
– Somehow, answered Jeff, innocently.
– Y’know what, let’s put this story in the void, and have done with it [put the fiddle in the roof], said Dave.
– How about we put the fiddle in the void, and put the story in the roof instead?
– You haven’t got a fiddle.
– Right, said Jeff, and off she went to search for food.
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