Cab Fit

A kitchen isn't a rectangle you divide up. It's a wall with a window in the wrong place, a corner that eats space, a fridge that needs air behind it, and cabinets that only come in fixed widths. Cab Fit works that wall from corner to corner, the way a fitter does.

You give it the wall length and height. It lays standard base, wall, and tall units along the run, and when the widths don't add up to the wall exactly — they never do — it turns the leftover into filler strips spread evenly at the ends, not one ugly sliver jammed in a corner. Wall units line up over the base run, seams matching.

Appliances get real slots, not gaps. A fridge, an oven, a dishwasher each reserve their width with the clearance they need for air and for the water and power behind them. And it checks the work triangle — sink, hob, fridge — by adding the three sides, so you find out the layout is cramped or strung out before the cabinets are ordered, not after.

Corners are where kitchens waste space, so they get their own screen: a carousel, a corner unit, or a blind corner with an access filler, with the doors set so they don't clash. Door swings, handle clearance, the plinth height, the sockets and pipes hiding behind the units, the worktop depth and overhang — each has a place to be worked out instead of discovered on fitting day.

When it's right, it builds the order sheet: every module with its width, the fronts, the fillers, the hardware, the appliance slots, ready as a PDF for the factory with nothing to phone back about. There's a cost estimate, a whole-kitchen layout board, and a spot to photograph a gap or a misaligned front at handover.

One thing to be straight about. Cab Fit doesn't measure your wall. You do, with a tape, and the layout is only as good as that number. It plans and it checks; it doesn't cut anything or hang a door.