Pick the apps that eat your evenings and give yourself a time budget. When it runs out, a cat wanders across the screen, sits down on top of whatever you were reading, and stays a while.
You can still see what is underneath. You just cannot touch it until the break is over.
There is no lock here, and no lecture either. Just a cat called Cash, or a dog called Tango, turning up once you have been scrolling a long time, and moving aside if you genuinely need the phone.
HOW IT WORKS
Choose your buddy first: Cash the Abyssinian, or Tango the Ridgeback. Both free. Then choose your apps; the usual time-sinks come pre-ticked and you can change them later.
Set how long a sitting lasts and how long a break should be. Ten minutes and five is a sensible start; a one-minute budget meets your buddy faster.
Then just use your phone. When the budget runs out your pet arrives, and when the break ends it wanders off and your time starts over.
The rest is optional: a bedtime window where the pet is on duty from the moment you open something, a daily cap across every guarded app, a warning before a break begins, and a home screen widget.
IT IS MEANT TO BE FORGIVING
Most screen time apps treat a slip as a failure, and you end up quietly resenting them. This one takes a different view.
Your streak counts the days you did not push the pet away early. Sitting through a break is not a failure. Only cutting one short costs you anything.
One bad day a week gets absorbed on its own, so there is always a grace day in your pocket.
Days you barely touch your phone count as clean, and so do rest days you declare on purpose. Deciding to take a night off should never score worse than quietly vanishing.
The pet does not die, sulk, or hold anything against you. Nothing in this app is designed to punish.
If you need the phone right now, dismiss the pet from the notification. It costs your streak a day, and that is the end of it.
WHAT IT KEEPS TRACK OF
Curtail keeps a small diary, and it is mostly a record of the good days.
It notices when you put the phone down on your own, the breaks you sat all the way through, and your longest stretch away from a guarded app, which only ever goes up.
On Sundays your pet writes you a short letter, built only from things that actually happened that week. There is a bond that deepens as the good days add up.
Good days earn badges that stack: one medallion per habit, recast at each step, wood to copper to gold and beyond. Unearned ones sit in plain sight, so you know what is ahead.
Early exits are counted once, against the streak, and never mentioned again. There is no running tally of failures anywhere in here.
You can give the pet a name. The cat answers to Cash and the dog to Tango, from Tango & Cash, until you say otherwise. If numbers are not what you want from this, there is a mode that puts them away and leaves you the pet, the streak, and the stories.
NOTHING LEAVES YOUR PHONE
Curtail has no account, no server, and no network permission of any kind.
No analytics, no advertising, nothing uploaded, because there is nowhere for it to go.
A screen in Settings lists everything the app holds about you, and lets you erase any of it on the spot.
Two permissions you grant by hand make it work. Usage access tells Curtail which app is in front. It reads no content, only the name of the app on screen. Display over other apps lets the pet appear.
WHAT IT IS NOT
This is a nudge rather than a cage.
The pet can be dismissed, the guard can be stopped, and the app can be uninstalled. Anyone who wants to get past it will, in about four seconds.
That is on purpose. No app can make you want something you do not want. What it can do is sit in the gap between you and the twentieth minute of doomscrolling, so the moment you decide to keep going is one you actually notice.
When your scroll time runs out, a cat or a dog comes and sits on the app.