My Among Us Pet Diary: Ten Tiny Companions and the Stories They Tell

I still remember the first time a UFO pet drifted over my shoulder in a 2026 lobby. I had come back to Among Us after a long break, expecting nostalgia, chaos, and at least one crewmate who would call an emergency meeting for no reason. What I did not expect was a tiny floating saucer following me like a pocket-sized mood ring wired to my own mortality. That is the thing about Among Us pets: they are cosmetic, yes, but they also turn every round into a small story about loyalty, panic, and terrible decisions.

The UFO was my first companion, and I chose it because it felt appropriately alien. The crewmates in Among Us have floating hands and a one-bone anatomy that has never made sense, so a UFO seems like a natural pet for whatever species we are. In practice, though, the UFO is a calm little machine. It blinks, it floats, and when I was murdered in Electrical, it flashed some red lights and then hovered there as if nothing had happened. It did not scream. It did not mourn. It simply watched, like a security camera that had been assigned to follow me. I respected the detachment. At least it never judged my terrible wiring attempts.

Then I tried the Squig. I regret to report that the Squig looks like one of Cthulhu's nasal polyps, and I mean that with affection. It is strange, damp-looking, and impossible to explain. When I died, it seemed to care, but that may have been because it died too. I spent a whole round wondering whether it was a best friend or a parasite feeding on my life energy. I never got an answer, and honestly, I did not want one. Some pets are meant to be mysteries.

The Robot was next. Its design is plain, but its animations give it more heart than most machines deserve. When a player is attacked, the Robot becomes alarmed. It does not help, of course, because it is a pet and not a bodyguard, but it does care. After death, it switches to standby mode and waits. That detail got me. I imagined it sitting there for the rest of the round, hoping its owner would come back and reactivate it. It was as useful as a paper umbrella in a meteor shower, but it was sincere.

The Glitch pet was a reward from watching participating Twitch channels, and it feels like a little piece of internet culture trailing behind me. It already has a face, so it does not need much animation to feel alive. When I was killed, its eyes vanished and three dots appeared. I chose to believe it was typing an obituary. My friend chose to believe it was loading. Either way, it made death feel slightly more dramatic.

The Bedcrab is one of the creepier pets, and I mean that as a compliment. It follows on a slight delay, moving in quick, skittish bursts. It feels like a bug stalking its prey, which is perfect if you are the Impostor and slightly unsettling if you are just trying to swipe a card. When I was killed, the Bedcrab stood bolt upright, as if it were about to attack the killer. Then it lay down on the ground beside me. Maybe it died protecting me. Maybe it simply gave up. I prefer the heroic version.

The Hamster is pure joy. It rolls after the player in a little ball, and its idle animation is worth watching if you are camping cameras. When it witnesses a murder, it does not freeze. It leaps around in its ball, trying to escape or get help. I appreciate a pet with a proactive mindset. In a game full of panic, the Hamster is the one companion that looks like it has a plan.

Henry, from The Henry Stickmin Collection, is a crossover pet with a lot of personality. He bounces along behind the player and openly weeps when the player dies. I liked him because he feels like a friend who is not afraid to be emotional. In a lobby where everyone is accusing everyone else, Henry is just there, crying, doing his best.

Ellie, also from The Henry Stickmin Collection, is funnier. When I was murdered, she pointed at the killer as if to say it was him. That is not exactly helpful, because the killer was already standing over my body, but it was a nice gesture. Then she lay on the ground. Was she dead? Had she given up? I still do not know. It was a weird response, but it was memorable.

The Mini Crewmate is the pet that made me understand why players get attached. It is adorable, and when paired with the Mini Crewmate hat, it feels like you are taking your family on a murder spree. When it sees its parent die, it freezes, then sits quietly on the ground. Its face is blank enough that I could project any emotion onto it. Grief? Shock? A quiet acceptance of the void? It was like a tiny Greek chorus that had been told to keep its lines to itself.

The Brainslug surprised me most. A Brainslug should not be cute, and yet it is. Its tentacles ripple as it floats behind you, and when you die, it gazes down at the floor with what looks like genuine sadness. It is a Futurama reference, but it is also the pet that made me feel the most guilty about getting killed. There is real mourning in those eyes. Or maybe I was just tired and emotional after a long session. Either way, it worked.

By the end of my 2026 sessions, I had cycled through almost every pet and learned something about myself. I like companions that react. I like the ones that make death feel like a scene instead of a loading screen. The UFO is elegant, the Squig is a mystery, and the Robot is loyal, but the Mini Crewmate and the Brainslug hit hardest. They turn a simple cosmetic choice into a tiny story. And in Among Us, where trust is temporary and betrayal is the whole point, a pet that stays with you after death feels oddly meaningful. Even if it is just a floating saucer, a skittish bug, or a very small crewmate, it is nice not to be alone.