— The anti-camera-roll
Every walk, every vet visit, every silly afternoon moment is trapped in a scroll no one will ever open again. Petlys is where the story finally lives — one small moment at a time, quietly stitched into something worth handing down.
— A memory
A photo. A voice note. A vet visit. A weight. A funny thing they did on a Tuesday. It takes ten seconds to save and it lives quietly in their timeline.
— A story
One memory is a moment. A hundred memories, gathered over seasons, is a life. Petlys stitches them into chapters — "the first summer," "recovering from surgery," "year fourteen" — so the story emerges without you ever sitting down to write it.
You save the memories. Petlys writes the story.
— What Petlys is not
There's already a vet-record app. Already a walk tracker, a treat shop, a lost-pet map, a social feed. We're not any of those. We're the one you open on a Sunday morning when they're asleep in the sun.
— Not a vet record app
We keep the vet notes so the story has them, not so you can run a clinic from your phone.
— Not a social feed
No followers. No likes. No strangers. Just you, them, and the people you choose.
— Not a walk tracker
We don't care how fast you walked. We care that you remember the walk itself.
— Not a storefront
We won't sell you toys, treats, or subscriptions to things they don't need.



— The four things it does
No feed. No ads. No training AI on your photos. Just the four jobs of being someone's person.

Photos, voice notes, milestones, the dumb thing they did at 6am. Ten seconds to save, filed to their timeline forever.
Think: 'he rang the bell to go out for the first time today.'

Vet visits, meds, weights, allergies, insurance, emergency contacts. When something matters, you're not digging through email.
Think: 'when's his next heartworm dose?' — answered in one tap.

Hand a sitter, dog walker, or new vet a read-only dossier — the essentials, no login required. It expires when you say.
Think: 'here's everything the sitter needs for the weekend.'

'On this day' resurfaces moments from years past. Chapters form themselves. When you're ready, share it — or hand it down.
Think: the memory that shows up on a hard Tuesday and undoes you.
— What it feels like
A day
You snap a photo of him curled on the rug. Ten seconds later it's saved to his timeline, tagged with today's weather and his age. That's it. Close the app.
A year
On a quiet morning you get a soft notification: 'A memory from last spring.' It's him, muddy and grinning, from a walk you'd already forgotten. You save it to the family.
A life
Years on, his story is complete — every vet visit, every silly voice note, every chapter. You share it with the family. Nothing is lost.
— Begin with one moment
A name. A photo. The day they became yours. That's chapter one — and it takes about a minute.