The Cassini space probe carried a dozen instruments to "sniff" planetary gases, measure gravity and give us more detail than ever about the mysteries of our solar system and beyond.
It also contained a mini-DVD holding the digitised signatures of some 600,000 Earthlings — including me.
When I was 12 or so, I sent a postcard with my name on it off to the Planetary Society to travel the solar system on the Cassini craft.
It's spent 20 years touring the solar system, starting with a couple of Venus flybys, navigating the asteroid belt and exploring Jupiter before settling in to give us our most detailed insights to date of Saturn and its moons.
Now, as that craft and my tiny piece of space history have been vapourised in Saturn's atmosphere, I'm taking a moment to reflect on what it has meant to be part of this mission.
The disc of signatures was the first "Send your name to..." project of its kind, with each physical signature painstakingly collated, counted and scanned in by Planetary Society volunteers.
Since Cassini's 1997 launch, the Planetary Society has launched millions of names — in text format this time — along with digitised artwork, haikus and books, on 19 different spacecraft to Mars, Pluto and beyond.
Exploration and immortality
But why bother sending our names into space anyway?
Maybe it's the fact that even though we may never go into space ourselves — although with SpaceX, Virgin Galactic and manned Mars missions all on the horizon, it's not so out of the question anymore — a little part of us has symbolically broken free of the Earth's gravity and gone off into the great beyond.
"It is a quest for immortality for themselves or their family members," the Planetary Society's Bruce Betts told SPACE.com back in 2008.
"It is inspiring to feel that your name is going out to the far reaches of the solar system. It is different, it is easy to participate in, and it makes people feel a part of true exploration."
To be honest, 12-year-old me scrawled my name on the postcard, sent it off and didn't give it much thought at first.
But over the years since, there have been moments when I've felt an inner glow that I have, in some tiny way, been part of exploring the solar system.
It's a journey with an expiry date: no ET or distant future human society will ever find this craft and discover its stowaway disc of human autographs.
But there is something kind of badass about knowing my name has gone down in a blaze of glory, its particles mingling with a gas giant forever.
Other 12-year-olds scrawled their names on the back of toilet doors — but I'm more of a space vandal.
