Ar ôl i’r pla glirio lle yn sied Dewi Sant i fwyd cathod, trawyd Daf y gath gan sylweddoliad bod rhywbeth o’i le. Roedd y pla yn chwarae yn hapus gyda Draig y ci mewn cornel, wrth i Franz Kafka canu cân fudr am selsigen Nadoligaidd.
– Esgusodwch fi, Mistar Pla, meddai Daf, yn rhyfedd o foneddigaidd, – ond dw i’n meddwl eich bod chi wedi dechrau yn y drefn anghywir yn ôl y Beibl.
– Wel, falle, meddai’r pla. – Ond shwt fyddet ti wedi disgwyl i fi glirio lle yn y sied hon gyda phla o waed?
– Pwynt da iawn, atebodd Daf. – Ond beth am i ni ddechrau o’r dechrau nawr?
– Pla o waed amdani, ‘te, meddai’r pla.
Mwmianodd y pla sbel hudolus arall, gyda bach o help gan y madarch, a oedd erioed yn fodlon achosi bach o drafferth i’r cathod. Cyn hir, roedd yr ardd wedi troi mewn pwll dwfn o waed. Gallwyd pen to sied Dewi Sant, lle clwydai’r cathod, ei weld uchod y lif arswydus.
– Cofiwch yr ardd, meddai Jeff. – Dw i’n gwbod bo ti isie osgoi Nadolig yn gyfan gwbl, Daf, ond mae hyn yn ridiculous.
Ond llyfai Daf ei thraed heb ddiddordeb.
Sylweddolodd Jeff bod Franz Kafka yn eistedd ar y ffens. Roedd wrthi’n gwneud rhywbeth gyda phâr o deits a stof wersylla.
– Be ‘ti neud? gofynnodd Jeff wrtho.
– Bydd gwledd mawr o bwdin du! ebychodd Franz Kafka.
– Am flasus, meddai Jeff.
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Saesneg / English
The Plague – part 2
After the plague cleared a place in St David’s shed for cat food, Dave was struck by the realisation that something was wrong. The plague was playing happily with Dragon the dog in a corner, while Franz Kafka sang a dirty song about a Christmas sausage.
– Excuse me, Mr. Plague, said Dave, unusually politely, – but I think you’ve started in the wrong order according to the Bible.
– Well, maybe, said the plague. – But how would you have expected me to clear a place in this shed with a plague of blood?
– Very good point, replied Dave. – But how about we start from the beginning now?
– A plague of blood it is, then, said the plague.
The plague muttered another magic spell, with a little help from the mushrooms, who were always willing to cause a bit of trouble for the cats. Before long, the garden had turned into a deep pool of blood. The roof of St David’s shed, where the cats were perching, could be seen above the horrific flood.
– Cofiwch yr ardd, said Jeff. – I know you want to avoid Christmas altogether, Dave, but this is ridiculous.
But Dave was licking her feet, uninterested.
Jeff realized that Franz Kafka was sitting on the fence. He was doing something with a pair of tights and a camping stove.
– What are you doing? Jeff asked him.
– There will be a big feast of black pudding! exclaimed Franz Kafka.
– How tasty, said Jeff.
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