My cat, Skipper, died on Saturday.

In my head, I keep going over the last few weeks of his life, how I was occasionally annoyed with him when he tried to climb in my lap (because his body temperature was extremely low and he wanted a warm place to lay down) and with his begging for food and water (despite me feeding him 5-10 times a day); how we could have taken him to the vet sooner, and been more aggressive with his treatment once we got him there. The guilt is tearing me up.

Here he is circa 2016 after a dirt bath, looking smug.

UPDATE: More pictures here