Yn y Dinbych-y-pysgod Arall y tu hwnt i’r wardrob, does dim sôn am Alan.
Ydy’r pysgod wedi ei fwyta?
Nac ydy. Mae’n well ganddyn nhw gyrri.
Beth bynnag, ble mae Santes Dwynwen? Ydy hi’n dal i fod yn ei chawell?
Nac ydy! Rhaid bod hi wedi dianc rywsut yng nghwmni Alan.
Ond mae rhywbeth arall sy’n poeni’r cathod. Ar fryn bach ynghanol y dref, mae cadair arian.
Mae’n edrych fel bod eisteddfod ar fin digwydd!
O na.
— Beth am i ni ffindo Alan a’i gadeirio cyn ‘yn nhw gâl y cyfle i ddechre’r eisteddfod? gofyn Jeff. — Ddyle ‘ny ‘u rhwystro nhw.
— Ma syniad gwell ‘da fi, medd Daf. — Beth am i ni doddi’r gadair i lawr, gwerthu’r arian, a phrynu llong bleser?
— Syniad gwych, etyb Jeff. — Allen ni hwylio bant, ymhell o unrhyw eisteddfod. Am ddelfrydol.
Saesneg / English
The silver chair
In the Other Tenby beyond the wardrobe, there is no sign of Alan.
Have the fish eaten him?
No. They prefer curry.
Anyway, where is Saint Dwynwen? Is she still in her cage?
No! She must somehow have escaped with Alan.
But there is something else that is worrying the cats. On a small hill in the middle of the town, there is a silver chair.
It looks like an eisteddfod is about to happen!
Oh no.
— How about we find Alan and chair him before they get the chance to start the eisteddfod? asks Jeff. — That should stop them.
— I have a better idea, says Dave. — How about we melt down the chair, sell the silver, and buy a yacht?
— Great idea, answers Jeff. – We could sail away, far from any eisteddfod. How ideal.
