GEORGE & BISCUIT · THE NIGHT SHIFT
We built our humanan app.
Mostly so they could get some rest.
01
Our human needed technical support.
I’m George. A cat. The colleague licking the keyboard is Biscuit. A dog.
For the record, he didn’t break this keyboard.
That was the previous one.
The idea for Petter Days came to us one ordinary evening. Our human was crouching by the cupboard, half a bag of food in one hand and a phone in the other, muttering:
“When did I open this? Did we do brushing today? What was that last weigh-in?”
Biscuit was touched. At last, our human was taking the question of extra meals seriously.
I was concerned.
That two-legged brain was already holding work, deliveries, tomorrow’s weather and the date of our last nail trim.
Any more, and it would need an external drive.
So, once our human was asleep, I hopped onto the desk and opened the laptop.
Biscuit dragged over a chair. “What are we doing?”
“Building our human an app.”
“Can it order takeaway?”
“No.”
“Put that on the feature list.”
02
First build. Third request for dinner.
By the early hours, we had officially formed a development team.
I handled the product, the interface and changing my mind at midnight. Biscuit handled shortcuts, field testing and removing me from the keyboard when I changed my mind.
Our first attempt didn’t run.
The second displayed a button.
On the third, Biscuit renamed it “Another bowl, please.”
A forty-minute product meeting followed. The decision: records first. Second dinner could wait.
I gave every pet a profile and a care history. Meals, water, weight and grooming all had somewhere to go.
“Could my weight go in your profile?” Biscuit asked.
“No.”
“Not very flexible, then.”
I felt this proved it was working rather well.
We added custom fields so humans could keep records their own way. Biscuit immediately created “Exceptionally good today” and filled it in seven times.
I removed six.
He filed a complaint.
03
Senior Engineer, Bath Opposition.
Care plans caused our longest disagreement.
Biscuit argued that “bath planned” and “bath taken” should count as the same thing. Simply thinking about a bath had already cost him considerable emotional effort.
I insisted they stay separate.
A plan is a plan. A completed record comes after the care has actually happened.
Biscuit went quiet, then changed his job title to “Senior Engineer, Bath Opposition.”
04
Missing stock. A very helpful suspect.
Next came supply management.
Food, treats, care supplies. Stock, expiry dates and purchases. Our human needed to see what was what, without standing in a shop wondering aloud, “Don’t we have another bag at home?”
During testing, we discovered a serious issue.
The treat inventory was shrinking every day.
I checked the code three times.
Biscuit checked three bags.
We successfully identified the cause.
05
Test location: beside the water bowl.
Biscuit was especially proud of the NFC shortcut.
One day he lined up a phone, a tag and the water bowl, and called me over.
“Our human’s hands are already full looking after us. Could the shortcut live right here?”
So we linked familiar records to tags. A tap with a compatible iPhone opens the right entry point. Check the details, then save.
Biscuit walked around the bowl twenty-seven times.
I asked what he was testing.
“Whether it works just as well from different directions.”
“Why have you had five drinks?”
“Real-world conditions.”
He is a remarkably committed developer.
06
The laptop is warm. That’s enthusiasm.
Over the last few nights, we worked on the things you can’t see, but can’t afford to get vague about.
Our human should be able to keep records without an internet connection. Important data should have a complete backup, saved wherever they choose. If someone else in the household helps with care, viewing and editing permissions should be clear.
None of this was especially entertaining.
For once, Biscuit didn’t request another meal.
We tested each part and took turns sleeping. More precisely, he slept on the chair and I slept on the laptop. When our human noticed how warm it was the next morning, we agreed to call it developer enthusiasm.
07
App delivered. Our turn now.
Nothing spectacular happened the first time our human used Petter Days.
They topped up the water and made a record.
Checked the supplies and knew what to buy that week.
Finished the care and logged it.
Then they put the phone down and sat beside us.
Biscuit immediately pushed his head into their hand. I happened to be passing and settled on the other side.
“Why aren’t they using our app anymore?” Biscuit whispered.
“Today’s things are taken care of.”
“So?”
“So it’s our turn.”
Biscuit considered this an excellent product direction.
That night, we wrote the first request for our next update: