Mae rhywbeth yn bod ar Daf y gath.
Ar ôl bwyta maint enfawr o gaws cwstard Santes Dwynwen, mae bola tost arni hi.
Mae Daf yn rhechu yn barhaol. Nid rhechion capel ydyn nhw, ond rhai clec. Mae hi’n drewi.
– Rhaid i ni gael gwared ar y caws i gyd, meddai Jeff. Mae’n anfad.
Yn sydyn, mae Franz Kafka’n ymddangos â phecyn mawr o selsig.
– Gwyliwch hyn, meddai Kafka.
Mae selsigen hudolus fawr yn dod allan o’r pecyn, a bwyta’r caws i gyd.
– Da iawn, meddai Jeff. – Ond alla i ragweld beth sy’n mynd i ddigwydd nesa.
A gyda hynny, mae’r selsigen yn dechrau rhechu.
Saesneg / English
Cheese-wind
Something is wrong with Dave the cat.
After eating a huge quantity of St Dwynwen’s custard cheese, she has a bad stomach.
Dave is farting constantly. They are not chapel farts, but thunderous ones. She stinks.
– We have to get rid of all the cheese, says Jeff. – It’s evil.
Suddenly, Franz Kafka appears with a large pack of sausages.
– Watch this, says Kafka.
A large magical sausage comes out of the pack, and eats all the cheese.
– Well done, says Jeff. – But I can predict what’s going to happen next.
And with that, the sausage starts farting.
