Mae ciwiau hir yn y maes awyr. Mae pawb wedi blino’n rhacs, ar ôl iddyn nhw godi am dri o’r gloch yn y bore.
– O na, meddai Daf y gath. – Ble mae fy mhasbort?
– Does dim pasbort gyda ti, meddai Jeff ei chwaer. – Cath wyt ti.
– O na, meddai Dewi Sant. – Ble mae fy mhasbort?
– O na, meddai Daf y gath. – Mae Dewi Sant wedi colli ei basbort hefyd.
– Dwyt ti ddim wedi colli dy basbort. Nid yw Dewi Sant wedi colli ei basbort chwaith. Sant yw e. Corff yw e. Mae fe wedi marw ers blynyddoedd.
Nid yw’r cathod na Dewi Sant yn y maes awyr beth bynnag. Mae ganddyn nhw mwy o synnwyr na hynny.
Saesneg / English
Passport
There are long queues at the airport. Everyone is tired out, after getting up at three o’clock in the morning.
– Oh no, says Dave the cat. – Where is my passport?
– You don’t have a passport, said Jeff her sister. – You are a cat.
– Oh no, says Saint David. – Where is my passport?
– Oh no, says Dave the cat. – Saint David has also lost his passport.
– You haven’t lost your passport. Saint David hasn’t lost his passport either. He is a saint. He is a corpse. He has been dead for years.
Neither the cats nor Saint David are at the airport anyway. They’ve got more sense than that.
