A record of what you own and where you keep it, so the answer to “where did I put the…” is a search rather than a hunt.
Three steps, and the third is the point.
Everything else here grows out of that: if you know what you own and where it is, you also know what has gone missing, what has run out, what needs buying, and what to tell an insurer.
Photograph a drawer, a shelf, a dressing table. The app lists what it sees — names, rough descriptions, quantities — and you tick what to keep. Twenty things catalogued in a minute instead of twenty separate entries.
A shared catalog means whoever put it away and whoever is looking for it are using the same record. Every change notes who made it, so “I didn’t move it” is answerable.
Walk a shelf, count what is actually there, and the app records the count, flags what is missing, and adds anything running low to the shopping list. Works as well for an office supply cupboard as for a pantry.
A printable inventory of everything, grouped by where it lives, with photographs. Useful the day you need to prove what you had, and the day someone else is packing it.
Photograph a stray object and the app works out what it is and where it belongs — which is the harder half of tidying up.
Search by name, description, tag or place. Filters along the top narrow it to things marked Missing, things On loan, or things To buy. Tags you have used appear as chips — tap one instead of typing it.
Tap a thing to see everything about it: where it lives, its photograph, its quantity, and the history of what has happened to it. From there you can edit it, mark it missing, lend it to someone, or move it to a different place.
Moving several at once. Select at the end of the heading row turns the list into a set of checkboxes; tick what you want, or Select all, and file the lot into one place in a single step. This is how a drawer you have just scanned gets put away without opening thirty things one at a time.
Nothing is written until you press save. The + Add a thing button is always there for something the camera will never help with — a passport, a spare key, a warranty.
A place is wherever you keep things. Each one gets a short code from its name — “dressing table top” becomes DTT — so a long path stays readable. Open a place and it shows that code in large type, because the other thing it is for is writing on the outside of a box: see Labelling a box.
Places nest. A work table can hold a left drawer and a right drawer; a kitchen can hold a pantry which holds a top shelf. Put a thing in the most specific place you can and the app shows the whole path when you look it up.
Nesting is not a decision you have to get right the first time. Open a place, choose Edit, and pick a different parent: two shelves catalogued separately can be gathered under the cabinet they were always in, and every path updates itself.
Things you have added without saying where they live collect under Not filed anywhere at the bottom of this screen, with the same Select control for filing them in one go.
Find these a home takes that pile and proposes where each thing goes, reading the places you have made and what is already in each one. You get a list with a suggested place and a short reason per thing; untick anything wrong, change any answer, and file the rest in one step. It declines rather than guesses — if nothing you own is a sensible home for a spare HDMI cable, it says so instead of picking the least-bad drawer, because a thing filed somewhere wrong is worse than one not filed at all. This is the one part of this screen that costs a scan.
Each place can have its own photograph, which is worth doing for anything you would otherwise describe as “that cupboard in the hall”.
At the top of the screen, the same tree drawn with weight: one bar per place, heaviest first, each counting everything nested inside it. A room is heavy because of what is in its drawers. Unfiled things get their own row so the picture stays honest. Tap any bar to open that place.
Below the tree, whatever the catalog can work out about itself. No photographs are read and nothing is sent anywhere — it is arithmetic over what you have already typed, so it costs nothing and works with no signal.
Open any of them to see exactly what it is about, and tap through to fix it.
Photograph a drawer or a shelf. The photograph goes to Claude, which comes back with a list of what it can see: a name, a short description, some tags, and a quantity for anything it saw more than one of. Anything half-buried is marked low confidence and left unticked.
Above the list is a note about the photograph itself — dim lighting, glare, things underneath other things. Read it: a bad photograph produces a short list, and it is quicker to take another one than to type in what was missed.
Edit the names before filing. The app guesses what a thing is called; you know what you will search for later. You can add your own name or tag alongside the one it derived.
Look again, more carefully re-reads the same photograph with a stronger model, told to merge anything it listed twice and count the duplicates. Worth it on a cluttered drawer, and it costs a second scan.
The reverse of Find. Photograph one object you are holding, and the app identifies it and looks for it in your catalog. If it finds a match it tells you where that thing lives and offers to put it back — which also records that you have seen it, so it counts as a sighting.
If it is not in the catalog, you can add it there and then.
A stock-take of one place. The app lists what it expects to find there and you work through it, saying how many are actually present. Anything you count as zero is marked missing, with the date. Anything out on loan is shown separately so you are not looking for something you lent out.
Set a low number on a thing — the count at or below which you want more — and a check that finds it running short adds it to the shopping list without being asked.
Counting from a photograph. Anything with a photo offers Count these from a photo. Photograph the shelf and the app counts how many of that thing are in it, using the picture already in your catalog to know what it is looking for — so there is only ever one photo to take.
It answers with a range and how sure it is, not a bare number, because counting from a photograph is genuinely hard. Separated things on an open shelf it gets right. Stacked, overlapping or half out of frame, it will say so and widen the range — believe that rather than the middle number. The count lands in the counter as a starting point, where you correct it like any other.
Finishing a check stamps the place with the date, so you can see what has not been looked at in a while.
The shopping list. Things arrive here from a check that ran short, or because you flagged them yourself — including straight from a scan, if the photograph reminds you that something is nearly gone.
Tick a thing as bought and it does not vanish; it moves to Put away.
What you have bought and not yet filed. This is the step that usually gets skipped, and the reason a catalog drifts out of date within a fortnight.
Each entry shows where the thing belongs, so putting the shopping away is a list to work through rather than a series of decisions. Anything with no place decided yet is shown first. You can send the list to whoever is actually carrying the bags.
Reached from the button in the top right corner, showing your initial. It holds:
A sealed box is the one thing a photograph cannot help with — no camera sees through cardboard — so places carry a short code instead. Open a place and it shows that code in large type. Write it on the box with a marker, and typing those two or three letters into Find later shows what is in there. No printer, no camera, and nothing to open first: it works in a cellar with no signal, and it survives tape, dust and being restacked.
The code does not change when you rename a place or move it somewhere else, so a box marked once stays correct.
If you would rather print, Backup → Open the label sheet builds one label per place: a square to scan, the path it sits in, its name, and the same code. Print it, cut along the dashed lines, stick one on each box. Pointing a phone camera at the square opens the app on that place — and only if the person scanning is signed in to that catalog, so a sticker photographed through a window is a link to a sign-in screen and nothing more.
Every thing has a folded More details section for what it is worth, its serial number, when it was bought and when its warranty ends. None of it is required, and it stays closed until you open it. A serial number is searchable, which is how you tell two identical drills apart. A warranty that ends within two months shows up under Worth a look, while there is still time to use it.
Values appear in the printable inventory as a column and a total — as entered by the people who keep the catalog, which makes it a record rather than an appraisal. The CSV export carries all four fields.
Your own catalog is private and nobody else can open it. A shared catalog is one other people can open too: create one, and give the eight-character invite code to whoever should have it. They enter it under Sharing on their own account.
Everyone in a shared catalog sees and can change everything in it, photographs included, and every change records which member made it. Leaving a shared catalog ends your access but does not remove what you added — that belongs to the catalog and stays with the people still in it.
On the phone, Start — no account needed opens a catalog straight away, kept by that phone. It works like any other: places, things, photographs, and the first three scans. Signing out is safe, because the phone can always go back into it. Deleting the app is not — so once there is something worth keeping, Account → Add an email turns it into an ordinary account. Nothing moves, and from then on it is the same catalog here on the web.
The phone app keeps its own copy of the catalog, so a garage or a cellar with no signal still opens on it. Searching, browsing and every change made by hand work as usual; the top of the screen says Saved on this phone until the connection comes back, and then the changes go up by themselves. A photograph of a thing or a place is kept on the phone and uploaded later. Scanning, Where goes? and counting from a photo need a signal, because the photograph is read on the server. The web needs a connection throughout.
If someone else changed the catalog meanwhile — from another phone or here on the web — both sets of changes are kept. Only when you both changed the same detail of the same thing does one win, the later one, and the app says so.
An account is an email address and a password of at least ten characters. Confirm the address from the email we send — your first three scans work before you do, and after that scanning and counting wait for it; everything else never does. It is also the only way we can get you back in if you forget your password, which is worth ten seconds now rather than a lost catalog later.
Sign in on the phone and on the web with the same one; they are the same catalog.
Forgotten it? I have forgotten my password on the sign-in screen sends a link that works once and expires in an hour. Changing your password — from the sign-in link or from Account — signs out every other device, which is the point.
Cataloguing by hand, searching, places, checks, the shopping list, put-away, sharing and the printable report are free, and stay free.
Scanning is the one part that costs money to run — each photograph is read by Claude, and that is billed by the picture. It is free today, up to the monthly cap below, and there is nothing to buy in either app. If that ever changes, this page changes with it.
Find these a home counts as one scan however many things it places, because it is one question asked once. Look again, more carefully and Count these from a photo each cost a scan of their own. Worth a look costs nothing at all — it never leaves your device.
There is a ceiling on scans — 60 a day and 100 a month per account. It exists to stop an account running up a bill, not to ration you; cataloguing a whole house takes a few dozen photographs, not hundreds.
Under Backup on the web — or Account → Backup on the phone, which works with no signal — you can take the whole catalog as JSON, which restores back into the app, or as CSV for a spreadsheet. Neither carries the photograph files.
Everything lives on one server. It is not replicated to a second place. Take a backup before anything drastic, and do not make this the only record of something you cannot afford to lose.
Scanning uses a machine learning model to guess what is in a photograph, and it gets things wrong. It is a starting point you correct, not an authority. The inventory report is a convenience — it is not an appraisal, and no insurer is obliged to accept it.
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