Mae argyfwng heddiw, er bod y tywydd yn braf.
Mae cannoedd o wiwerod yn yr ardd. Does neb yn gwybod pam.
Maen nhw’n cnoi popeth. Mae sied Dewi Sant wedi cael ei chnoi, mae peli jyglo’r chwarter-siarc wedi cael eu cnoi, ac mae peiriant cwstard Santes Dwynwen wedi cael ei gnoi.
Am lawer o gnoi!
Mae golwg treuliedig ar bopeth.
Ond erbyn hyn mae’r gwiwerod wedi rhedeg mas o bethau i’w cnoi. Pethau difywyd, hynny yw. Felly maen nhw’n dechrau cnoi trigolion yn ardd.
Am boenus! Mae pawb yn sgrechian wrth i’r gwiwerod gnoi eu traed nhw.
– Sdim dwyweth amdani, meddai Jeff y gath, – ni angen bom tro ‘ma.
– Bom? On’d yw hynny braidd yn ddrastig? ateb Daf y gath.
– Wel, alli di feddwl am ffordd arall i ddod â’r stori i ben?
Saesneg / English
Squirrels
There is a crisis today, even though the weather is fine.
There are hundreds of squirrels in the garden. Nobody knows why.
They are chewing everything. St David’s shed has been chewed, the quarter-shark’s juggling balls have been chewed, and St Dwynwen’s custard machine has been chewed.
What a lot of chewing!
Everything looks tatty.
But by now the squirrels have run into a lot of things to chew on. Inanimate things, that is. So they start chewing the garden’s inhabitants.
How painful! Everyone screams as the squirrels chew their feet.
– There’s no two ways about it, says Jeff the cat, – we need a bomb this time.
– A bomb? Isn’t that a bit drastic? answers Dave the cat.
– Well, can you think of another way to end the story?