It’s Showtime for Judge Judy’s beloved friend Cindy Adams (2023)

My great friend Cindy Adams and I met decades ago through our dogs.

Our mutual banker at a local Chemical Bank (now Chase) asked me if I could help one of her customers who had a pooch that she could not train. I owned a well-behaved Shih Tzu named Lulu, and the customer, a rebellious Yorkie named Jazzy. The next morning at 6:30 a.m. I got a call from none other than Cindy Adams. Cindy was up — the world must be up! We’ve been friends ever since.

The irony is I have a new Shih Tzu who is very well trained, and her new Yorkie thinks Cindy’s whole apartment is her ­toilet.

Cindy is profiled in a new four-part documentary series called “Gossip” starting tonight on Showtime. You’ve got to watch it. Her hospital bed interview with the shah of Iran, the Woody scoops, the Donald scoops, the Pooper Scoops — they’re all there.

You’ll meet the Cindy I know: a woman who loves with the same intensity as she hates. If you are within her circle of love, you can sleep easy knowing that she will do everything in her power to keep you safe. If you get on Cindy’s bad side, however, you better keep one eye open.

We’ve traveled all over the world together. Once when we were departing a small airport in India, we were confronted by some very serious officials. Cindy was carrying with her a satchel bag that she’s probably had for 50 years, and probably hasn’t unpacked for 50 years, in which she keeps beauty supplies. A security guard grabbed Cindy’s bag (she doesn’t even know what’s at the bottom of that thing) and demanded that she “empty the satchel.”

Cindy looked at her incredulously. Nervously, I suggested to my husband and our other friend that we step aside, because I knew that anybody with her at this moment could be arrested in India. Cindy dumped the bag over the conveyor belt and the security guard went through her items. When it was over, she said to Cindy, “All right, you can put it all back now.”

I felt my back stiffening. Cindy replied, “You took it out. You put it back.”

I froze. “We are all going to jail,” I said.

Then, interestingly, the guard put all the items back in the bag. That’s Cindy.

My life has been enriched beyond measure by having Cindy as a friend. To the world, she is a tart-tongued, brilliant humorist who has written the go-to page of The Post for a morning pick-me-up since 1981. There is no one like her on the planet. She is a favorite of the Cardinal and several convicted felons. And Cindy is honest to a fault. Just recently she told me it was time to change either the lighting or my makeup — because I make “Mommie Dearest” look good.

If Cindy is a buddy, you’re never bored. Sometimes embarrassed, but never bored. You master the phrase “She really didn’t mean that” or “She didn’t see you.” The truth is she did in fact mean it, and she did in fact see you when she stepped on your gown.

Take the way Cindy writes about me, her dear friend, in her column. While she has lauded me many times, I’ve had my share of being “peed upon” — her words — too.

She humorously trashed her first visit to a home that my husband and I once owned in Connecticut. We had just moved in, and she pushed her way in for a too-soon visit. Cindy instantly noticed there was a paucity of toilet tissue, dishes and most other staples. And the next day, the whole world knew all about it.

And as a gesture of apology for judging me in her column, Cindy sent me 10,000 pink paper plates in assorted sizes. I’ve moved several times since, and I still have a generous supply of her plates.

We play gin rummy. She’s better than I am, and I’m lucky when I win. We play for money just to keep it interesting, but if I owe her 2 cents she will hound me for months. On the flip side, I’ve gotten checks from her for 30 cents in the mail with a 40-cent stamp when she doesn’t have change.

For my last birthday, Cindy had a plane fly over my home dragging a banner that read “Happy Birthday, Judge Judy!” She was smart enough to omit my age, because I’m a little vindictive. And I’m her younger friend.

My friend Cindy is a proud New Yorker and an American who loves her country. She won’t let anybody pee on New York or the United States. She is an extraordinary person; a direct, no-nonsense, “this is who I am,” like-it-or-lump-it girl.

“You take me with all of my faults,” Cindy would say.

And she’d quickly add, “If I had any!”

Cindy Adams’ Greatest New York Post Hits

Cindy Adams reveals her favorite scoops during her 40 years as The Post’s gossip columnist:

“KICKED OUT: STUFFY MANHATTAN CLUB BOOTS FIRST LADY” (Dec. 11, 1997)

The then-first lady Hillary Rodham Clinton and I were thrown out of the University Club. So, I called it “Geezergate.” The club is about 156 years old. The original members are still there!

“NOT GUILTY”(July 3, 1990)

I remember when Leona Helmsley asked me what former first lady of the Philippines Imelda Marcos’ problem was. I said, “It’s mathematical Alzheimer’s: She couldn’t remember where she mislaid $800 million.”

“BESS TELLS ANDY’S LIFE BEHIND BARS” (Nov. 9, 1987)

Every single day, Bess Myerson came over to my house from court for chicken soup and tuna salad. The editor of The Post called me one day and said, “Can you tell us where Bess is?” I didn’t lie. I just said, “No, I can’t tell you.” I couldn’t tell him because she was sitting right next to me.